


Mighty Fine Shindig

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (but in a lovable way!), Bellamy not coping, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Canon Compliant (Ish), Canon Speculation, Clarke in a dress, Clarke looking like a literal princess, Firefly References, Jealous Bellamy, Murphy Being an Asshole, Murphy and Madi and Diyoza being Clarke stans, New Planet, Original Characters but only because they're on a new planet and i had to make some up, POV Bellamy Blake, POV Clarke Griffin, Protective Bellamy, Season 6 Speculation, Semi-Based on an episode of Firefly but it got away from me a little, but Bellamy is essentially gut punched with Clarke's beauty, it's a lot, minor becho but only because it's canon compliant not because it matters, the nickname IS used, to be fair everyone else is pretty shook too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16541141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: An idea I had while rewatching Firefly, kinda based on the episodeShindig, but you definitely don't have to have watched it to read this, because I really took this in its own direction.When they touch down on the new planet, the leaders throw a ball in their honour, which involves Clarke in a dress getting all the attention she deserves, Bellamy being very jealous and doing a terrible job of concealing it, and possibly getting into a fight over Clarke, so... everyone's fantasy?Just mine?Cool.





	1. Take My Love, Take My Land

**Author's Note:**

> When they touch down on the new planet, they find it's a rich society with an 1800s England type vibe and a proclivity for nice clothes and grand furnishings. 
> 
> When the leaders of the planet decide to throw a ball in honour of the new arrivals, Bellamy is suspicious... or is he just jealous that Clarke seems to be so welcomed here?
> 
> There will be a bunch of Firefly references in this, but more in the second half than the first. (also, PSA, go watch Firefly)

_Take my love, take my land,_  
_Take me where I cannot stand._  
_I don't care, I'm still free,_  
_You can't take the sky from me. ___

__  
__  
  
  
  
  
  


_Bellamy was anxiously pacing up and down his room, his shirt unbuttoned and his fly hanging open. He ran his hands through his hair as he moved, trying to be rational with himself. There was nothing to worry about, and yet he couldn’t relax – part of him was screaming that this was impossible, that nice things didn’t happen to them, that this party was some elaborate trap._

_When their small scouting party had first touched down on the ground, he expected retaliation, in fact he was pretty sure all of them had. So it had been more than a little disconcerting when the welcome they got was just that – welcoming._

_The people were wonderful; they dressed neatly and smelled amazing and there were smiling faces everywhere he looked, and for some reason, it set off alarm bells in his head. He couldn’t work out why, until Clarke had leaned over to him about an hour into their first meeting with the leaders of the city they’d landed in and given him a knowing look. It was the same look she’d given him when they touched down on the planet and found out that it was called “Persephone” – her eyes had lit up and she immediately searched him out, aware of how fascinated he was with old mythology. He had smiled at her, and she had nodded back with a smirk before quickly averting her eyes. It was the closest he’d felt to her in days, right up until that meeting when she tilted her head towards him while Madi was talking to Russell._

_“It doesn’t feel right, does it? Peace, I mean,” she murmured, and it fell into place._

_He didn’t trust the quiet, or the people, because he’d never lived in a situation where the calm was anything but dangerous._

_Now, however, it really was as serene and utopian as it looked, and he hated it. He was so on edge that he couldn’t enjoy it, which only got worse when they invited them to a fancy party the city was throwing in their honour._

_He was half-dressed, agitated, and he really, really didn’t want to go to a fancy party where he was one of the guests of honour. He disliked attention when he wasn’t commanding it, and he disliked rich, upper class society even more. Two of his least favourite things were right outside his door, and the second he finished putting on his suit, he’d have to go and deal with it._

_Echo had rolled her eyes when he tried to tell her why he hated it, saying, “we’ve faced murderers and torture and sentient AI’s and war, and you’re afraid of some dancing?”_

_At which point he had sat down on the bed, turning white. “Dancing?” He’d asked weakly._

_Echo had sighed, “yes, Bellamy, dancing. And suits, and drinking and making a good impression with these people so they don’t see us as a threat.”_

_“We’re not a threat,” he snapped, defensiveness rising out of his fears._

_“I know,” she’d bent down as if to kiss his cheek and then thought better of it and turned to leave. At the door, she turned and said over her shoulder, “we just have to convince them of that.”_

_He was still wearing the same amount now as he had been then – unable to force himself to keep dressing for a gathering he wanted no part of._

_If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t so much the party itself that was grating at him, but the way it had come up._

* * *

* * *

* * *

** Two Days Earlier: **

 

Axton was the son of the mayor; a charming man with a mop of blonde hair and a smile that could outshine the sun. 

Bellamy didn’t like him. 

He couldn’t work out exactly why, but he really didn’t trust the easy grin constantly playing about his lips, or the way he leaned in slightly when talking to people. 

They were sitting around a large table; Axton and Callista as the liaisons between them and the locals, and Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, Shaw, Murphy, Emori and Echo. Somewhere out in the halls, getting situated in their temporary rooms were Diyoza, Octavia, Madi, Abby, Miller, Jackson and Jordan.

The actual negotiations had ended hours ago, when Madi and Russell had reached an agreement, and then Russell had departed with a friendly wave, and the others had opted to leave along with him. Abby had offered to take Madi when she started yawning, and everyone else had just sort of followed suit. Now it was just the niceties to go, and Bellamy was counting the seconds. 

Axton beamed around at them all. “Now that all the hard stuff is over, why don’t we talk fun?”

Bellamy was going to kill him, he knew it. Especially when he saw Axton’s smile change slightly when his gaze fell on Clarke. He didn’t like that look, not one little tiny bit. 

“So my father has decided that the city will throw a ball in your honour, to celebrate the new arrivals. After the party, we will sit down and have talks about your people in cryo, but for now, we just wanted to welcome you, the representatives of your people, into our home,” Axton rested his chin on his hand. “And feel free to ask anyone for help finding outfits, or someone to do your hair, although I’m sure your normal clothes will be quite sufficient, if you don’t feel comfortable getting things made. If you _wanted_ to get dresses made up, or suits, my people will be only too glad to assist you.”

He was so considerate of their position, and attitudes, and anxieties, and yet Bellamy still bristled when Axton smiled politely at each and every one of them, shaking their hands to signify the end of the meeting. 

Bellamy thanked them and they and stood up to leave, already halfway out the door before Axton called out, “Wait, uh… Miss Griffin?”

Clarke turned to face him, and Bellamy considered waiting too, to keep her safe, but Echo steered him out of the room and down the hall to where their quarters were supposed to be. He was so surprised at the lavishness of their room that for a moment he forgot how suspicious he was and just drank it in.

* * *

* * *

* * *

He spent the afternoon exploring the building, and spending time with Raven, who he decided he hadn’t talked to enough in the last 100 or so years. 

He didn’t see Clarke again until that night, when they were all sitting at dinner. They had all dug into their food when Clarke finally made an appearance, her arm through Axton’s as he whispered something in her ear. She chuckled, covering her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound, and he looked delighted at her flushed smile. 

Bellamy tried to remember the last time he’d seen her look so happy, and once he did, he wished he hadn’t. It was right after he’d found out she was alive and rescued her – when she was radioing the ship and Murphy cracked a joke. He’d been so relieved to see her, but so worried about her injuries, and then she had laughed and it had faded away, because she was injured, but she was _alive,_ she was _there._ When had he stopped being thankful for that? 

He snapped out of it just in time for them to approach the table. 

“Sorry for stealing her away for so long,” Axton beamed at them all, “but I desperately wanted to ask her a favour–”

At that, Clarke blushed and ducked her head, embarrassed.

“–and then we lost track of time. I started asking about Earth, and she was telling me about her home in the valley, and about all of you, of course,” he draped an arm around her shoulder like they were old friends, “and about the years spent alone, raising that wonderful young woman over there. Honestly, I’m amazed. What she did–”

“Ax, stop it,” she interrupted, elbowing him, a self-conscious smile in her cheeks. 

“Just accept the compliment, Clarke,” he ribbed.

“Never,” she said defiantly, a twinkle in her eye, and he snorted. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He said, pulling her in closer, his forearm against her neck, and she rolled her eyes and let him.

“You could try not cutting off my circulation?” She suggested.

“What are friends for?” He asked, but released her all the same, his arm moving back to encircle her shoulders. 

She groaned, hiding her face against his arm, “Don’t start that again.”

“You started it!” He bluffed, and she shook her head, flushing even darker. He sighed, “Alright, fine, but you have to promise you’ll choose the red.”

“Just for that, I’m picking silver.”

“You’re a menace,” he complained, but he was looking at her with warmth in his eyes, and his hand had slipped down to her waist, and Clarke looked… relaxed. 

Bellamy honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her truly relaxed, and it was a little alarming, in all honestly. He felt a pang of something in his chest, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wasn’t jealous. 

Not a bit. 

Callista appeared at his elbow, “Sorry, Axton, but your mother wants your help with the music arrangements for the ball.”

Axton sighed heavily, “Duty calls. I’ll see you tomorrow, Clarke. Don’t forget your walking boots. Or your kid.”

“We’re definitely walking? It’s not just another ruse to get me to try out shoes or learn to dance?”

He paused, “you don’t know how to dance?”

Clarke bristled, “doesn’t matter, I’ve got you. Or does being your date mean that we can avoid the dancing altogether?”

Axton rolled his eyes and removed his arm from her waist, stepping away, “actually, you’ll probably be doing more dancing that anyone there.”

Clarke looked murderous, “I’m going to kill you.”

He nodded solemnly, “but if you do that, how will I teach you to dance?”

Clarke looked like she was trying not to smile as she waved him away, taking the empty seat Madi had saved for her. She managed to avoid everyone’s blatant staring for a few minutes while she picked at her food, but eventually Madi poked her in the ribs and she glanced up. She frowned, confused. It was Murphy who broke the silence. 

“Wow… the princess _can_ have fun,” he drawled. 

Clarke squinted at him, her displeasure not really landing because of the way her lips were still tweaked up slightly, “I’ve always been fun.”

“I have never once seen you have a good time,” he shot back.

“I’ve never had the opportunity,” she countered, which sobered everyone somewhat. 

“Seriously, Griffin, you’ve been miserable for weeks and now you’re practically glowing, what did you and Axton do while you were missing for eight hours?” Raven asked, and it was the first time Bellamy had seen Raven talk to Clarke since they woke her up. Things had been rough for Clarke for a while; half the ship refused to acknowledge her, and her own daughter was distant because of the flame, only emerging in moments and flashes. It was part of why seeing her happy with Axton was so alarming – he hadn’t seen her smile in so long that he started to wonder if she’d forgotten how. He watched Clarke almost flinch at Raven’s question, her demeanour quieting. 

“We just… talked. It was nice.”

“You talked and it was nice?” Octavia raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Yeah. He listened to me, and asked me questions, and told me about himself, it was… it was just nice.” She looked pained again, like she was remembering that she wasn’t really welcome at the table anymore, and she dropped her gaze back to her plate. She reached over to hug Madi from the side, changing the topic, “and he said that there’s a garden across the city that looks like the valley, and he offered to bring you and I tomorrow, is that okay?”

Madi looked ecstatic, “Absolutely!”

“How does he know what the valley looked like?” Diyoza asked, suspicious, taking the question right out of Bellamy’s mouth. 

“My sketches.”

“I thought all your sketches were destroyed?” Echo asked, and Clarke stiffened slightly, the ease with which she had been holding herself now entirely faded from view and replaced with the usual mask of stoicism she was so frequently wearing of late.

“They were,” she said slowly, “but he had pencils, so I drew it for him, and he recognised something similar to theirs and suggested he take me.”

There was a slightly uncomfortably silence as Clarke waited for yet another person to challenge her. 

Until Murphy said, “Do you think he’d let me come too?”

Clarke shrugged, “Sure, Murphy, but I don’t really want to be supervising two children tomorrow, so you better behave.”

“I always behave.” Murphy winked, and everyone started throwing pieces of bread at him. 

* * *

* * *

* * *

Bellamy spent the day with Raven, Shaw and Emori in the common area, being shown around by locals, visiting markets and meeting important people he was supposed to know the names of by the next evening. He wasn’t bored – there was a lot to discuss and do and engage with. He also found he ended up a lot less suspicious – they let him wander around freely, and ask as many argumentative questions as he wanted until he was satisfied that no-one was going to murder anyone he cared about. It should have been a relaxing day. 

Yet by the time the evening snuck up on them and dinner arrived, he was on edge.

He _wasn’t_ thinking about the fact that he hadn’t seen Clarke since the previous evening at dinner, and he _definitely_ wasn’t hung up on the fact that she’d been out with Axton and Murphy and Madi all day, when they said they’d only be gone until lunchtime. 

Which is why it _absolutely_ didn’t stress him out when Murphy and Madi returned without her and sat down beside Raven. 

_Nope._

_Not even a tiny bit._

“She’s staying with Axton’s family tonight,” Murphy said. 

Bellamy shook himself out of his haze, “What?”

Murphy rolled his eyes and shared a look with Madi, “Clarke. She’s staying with Axton. We won’t see her again until the ball tomorrow night.”

He frowned, “I didn’t ask.”

Murphy snorted, “you didn’t have to; you have your _I’m-worried-about-Clarke-face on.”_

“What are you talking about?” 

“When you’re thinking really hard about Clarke, you get that look behind your eyes, like someone just kicked your puppy,” Diyoza said as she sat down beside them, having heard the tail end of the conversation as she approached. 

His frown became a scowl, irritation taking over his whole face, “I do not.”

“You do; it’s annoying,” Raven said, barely even looking up from the piece of hardware she was showing Shaw.

He was about to start growling at them all when Madi said, “Hey do you wanna hang out with me and Emori tonight? Murphy said I could stay in their room because Clarke’s not here, but I’m not tired yet.”

“Sure kid,” he said, dropping an arm over her shoulder and pulling her into a side-hug. 

* * *

* * *

* * *

He thought that with Murphy off helping Jackson and Abby with something in the markets, and Raven and Shaw doing something he probably didn’t want to think about in their quarters, that he would be safe from discussions of Clarke. 

Obviously, he was wrong. 

“I think Axton’s assistant has a crush on Clarke,” Madi said matter-of-factly, as they packed up the board games the three of them had been playing. 

Bellamy was in the kitchen, watching them over the dishes he was washing, and failing to turn his ears off. He was glad that washing dishes at least was the same. He wasn’t used to living in the lap of luxury, and he liked that at the very least he could still do the chores that were familiar to him. 

Emori frowned, confused. “His _assistant?”_

“Callista.”

“No, I know who his assistant is, I just… you think _she_ has a crush on Clarke?”

Madi shrugged, “I don’t know, she just kept finding excuses to hang out with us today, and she blushes whenever Clarke smiles at her.”

Emori blinked. 

“Does Clarke smile at her a lot?”

Madi just shrugged again, “yeah I guess. She always smiles though, so it’s hard to tell.”

Emori looked gobsmacked. “Clarke… smiles a lot?”

“Yeah, of course! Before you guys got back, anyway. Actually, the only times I saw her look sad was when…” she glanced furtively at Bellamy, “when she was trying to get the radio to work.”

And there it was again, the gut-punch that Madi had delivered while they stood on Earth, waiting for their time to run out. Clarke had been calling him, every day for six years, while he mourned her and moved on. Every time he thought about it, it hurt just as much as the first time, the weight of a universe behind a single fact; torturing him. 

Madi was still talking, “…and she smiles at Axton.”

Bellamy stiffened, and he didn’t miss the shit-eating grin Emori shot him, which he was certain she’d learned from Murphy.

“Does she now?” Emori asked smugly, reaching for her mug of fluorescent tea. 

Madi seemed to catch the undertone, and she turned to Bellamy, “Don’t worry, she still likes you more.”

Emori choked on her drink, and Bellamy dropped a plate into the dish water with a loud clatter. He tried to recover the fragments of his brain, scattered from the bomb that had just been dropped in it, “I wasn’t worried about that.”

But Madi just gave him a look that suggested it wasn’t convincing enough, and said, “Okay. But it’s true; she’s not trying to replace you yet.”

He tried to let it go. He really did. 

But–

“Yet?” He raised an eyebrow. 

Madi huffed in irritation, the long-suffering sigh of someone much older than her twelve years. “She loves you Bellamy, but she already waited for you for six years. She’s not going to keep waiting forever.”

“I… I don’t- she… it’s not- I don’t think…” he stammered, searching desperately for the right thing to say. “Clarke isn’t waiting for me,” he finished lamely, and this time Emori joined in with the irritated sigh. 

She was kinder than Murphy would have been though, changing the subject and distracting Madi until she went to bed. But once Madi was asleep, the topic was fair game, which is why he tried to return to his own room in a hurry. 

At which point, she cornered him in the kitchen. 

“Madi’s right, and you’re an idiot.”

He groaned, “please leave it alone.”

Emori poked him in the chest, “No. You’re either an idiot who genuinely has no idea that Clarke is in love with you, or you’re an idiot who is well aware and yet for some reason still hasn’t done anything about it.”

His expression hardened, and he folded his arms and scowled, but she wasn’t done.

“I know, I know, you’re with Echo. And Echo is my friend, and I love her, which is why I’m telling you this, because if you continue to stay with her, while being in love with someone else, you’re hurting someone I love. Someone we _both_ love. Because you’re in love with Clarke, but I know you love Echo too, and that’s why it’s hard for you to come to terms with it.”

He opened his mouth, but she continued. 

“But you _are_ in love with Clarke, and that’s obvious to everyone with eyes. Except Clarke, obviously.” This time, when she sighed, it was sympathetic, “you’ve always been in love with Clarke, Bellamy. We all know, even– _especially_ Echo. But she was okay with it, because Clarke was dead, and you weren’t going to leave her for a dead woman. Now…”

“Now Clarke’s alive,” he finished for her. 

“Yeah, she’s alive. And she _loves you.”_

He shook his head, “I’m not–”

“However you were going to finish that sentence, don’t bother,” Emori grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. “You need to deal with it, and soon. Because Madi’s right, Clarke doesn’t think you care, and she’s not going to wait if she thinks you don’t feel the same way. She’s a big girl, and she’s been alone for a long time; she’s loved you for years, and now that you’re back, she knows you’re in a relationship with someone else, and that you made a family without her in it, and it _hurts her._ Then, we arrived on a planet full of people that are doing their best to make her feel like she belongs, and that she’s wanted and desired. One person in particular is going above and beyond to reassure her of that. Meanwhile, Raven, Echo and Octavia are doing a great job of making her feel like she doesn’t belong, and there’s only so many jokes Murphy can make to cheer her up before she reaches her breaking point. Do you think she’s going to keep waiting for us to realise she’s still important to us, or do you think she’s going to start noticing that other people are making her feel more at home?”

Bellamy didn’t have an answer for that. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to formulate one, because it was at that moment that Murphy swung the door open and strode in. He took one look at the two of them and rolled his eyes at Emori. 

“Are you trying to give him the Clarke-talk?”

She made an irritated noise, “I just think he should think about where she’s coming from.”

Murphy flopped down on the couch, sticking his legs up over the back, “Wanna hear my opinion?”

“Not really,” Bellamy said. 

Murphy shot him a look, “Are you sure? Because right now, I’m the only person you know that Clarke will actually talk to about what she’s thinking.”

Bellamy clenched his fists into his crossed arms, “Fine.”

Murphy sat up on his elbows so he could make eye contact when he said, “I think you’re being selfish.”

Bellamy took an angry step forward, harsh words already on his tongue, but Murphy just held a hand up and raised an eyebrow. 

He continued, “I think you’re being selfish because you _know_ that woman loves you. I think you’re being selfish by staying with Echo just because you don’t wanna hurt her – because she’s going to be hurt either way, and this way, you’re just dragging it out. I think your jealousy that Clarke is having a good time with someone that’s not you is _selfish._ And I think if you don’t pull your head out of your ass, I’m just gonna tell her to date someone from this planet, because the person you are right now is not good enough for her. She deserves better." He paused a moment to allow a shit-eating grin to overtake his face, "Plus, Axton has a mansion – fit for a _princess,_ wouldn’t you say?”

Bellamy opened and closed his mouth a few times, furious, but after a moment, he realised – not at Murphy. 

No, he was angry at himself. 

Because, annoyingly, Murphy was right. 

He spun on his heel and aimed for the door yelling at the man over his shoulder as he left, “I hate you.”

“You better!” Was the lazy response, and he couldn’t help grinning at it. A smile that slowly slipped off his face the closer he got to his own quarters. He hated more than anything to admit that Murphy had a valid point, but as he slid into bed beside an already sleeping Echo, he realised he had long since stopped reaching for her in the night. He didn’t know if it was because he felt guilty or if it was because he was subconsciously already pulling away, but it was clearer now more than ever. He’d been neglecting his girlfriend, and he hadn’t been able to admit to himself that he knew exactly why. He couldn’t even admit it to himself in that moment, as he looked at her beside him and slowly drifted off.

* * *

* * *

* * *

He had decided to devote the first half of the day to Echo, because while he was worried about the future of his relationship, he wasn’t so horrible that he’d continue neglecting his girlfriend once it had been pointed out to him what he’d been doing. 

Echo had already picked out a dress; a black slinky number that she’d gone to great pains to hang where he could see it, and if it had been any other time, he would have appreciated the come on. 

Now, however, he kept seeing his own hypocrisy reflecting off the sheen of the dress as he got dressed and brought Echo breakfast as she sat at the table and read through something Raven had given her on Persephone’s customs. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, frowning at him.

“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile, but her frown only deepened and he took the seat next to her at their small table and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t trust them. I don’t trust the fancy apartments and the nice food and the overly affectionate people. I don’t trust the riches and the ostentatiousness of it all; it feels like they’re hiding something.”

Echo stared at him, but she didn’t say anything, she just picked at what looked like eggs on her plate. 

“Maybe Clarke’s right,” he caught Echo’s sudden tension at the name, but he powered through, “and I’m just not used to peace. Maybe I just need to take things one day at a time, but it’s just… I hate it, I fucking hate the quiet and the people and the idea of a ball being thrown in our honour. The whole thing just feels like an elaborate trap and I feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder here. I don’t trust any of them, and I especially don’t trust Axton–”

“Of _course_ you don’t trust Axton!” Echo threw her hands up, and it seemed to be what she had been waiting for him to say, because she pushed her food away and stared him down. “You don’t trust him because Clarke _does.”_

He froze. “What?” 

“You don’t like that Clarke likes him, that Clarke trusts him, and she’s spending more time with him than you. You don’t like the idea that she’s replacing you. You don’t trust him because you don’t like the idea of anyone being Clarke’s person except you. That’s what you are to each other Bellamy, that’s what you’ve always been. I’m not a fool – why do you think we used you as leverage to get Clarke to give up space in the bunker before Praimfaya, or why I held a sword to her throat in Polis after she took down the City of Light? I thought you might have overcome this ridiculous infatuation with her, but it seems to have only gotten worse. You forgave her before any of the rest of us did, yet you were the one she betrayed.”

“I betrayed her first,” Bellamy corrected, and Echo’s expression hardened. 

“See? Even now, you can’t stop yourself from sticking up for her. It’s ridiculous, and frankly it’s pathetic.”

He swallowed hard in an attempt to bite back a retort. He wasn’t hot-headed anymore, not in the way he used to be, but discussing his relationship with Clarke seemed to be a real trigger for him lately. In all honestly, it had _always_ been a trigger, but in the last few years that had been dimmed slightly in the time spent grieving her death.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, a note of anguish in his voice, and she rolled her eyes and stood up.

“I think I’ll spend the day with Raven. Let me know when you’ve pulled your head out of your ass.”

And then she was gone. 

But he didn’t feel like a part of himself was missing without her there; not like how he felt when Clarke was away from his side. He had thought that his relationship with Clarke had been broken in their last days on Earth, but they had still clung to each other instinctively as they said goodbye to their friends, and something had shifted between them, something like forgiveness. They’d always been good at that.

Now he was right back to where he was before – Clarke’s friend and confidant and partner in everything – yet somehow he felt he was even further away than when they first landed on Earth all those years ago. She hated him then, and he despised her and everything she stood for, but now there was a divide between them that neither seemed willing to broach, and he longed for the days when all they had was mutual loathing and constant sniping. It was so much better than their awkward silences and furtive glances. 

Even in the meeting, Clarke was there for Madi, and he was certain that if she hadn’t been, no-one else would have invited her. Murphy and Emori were right; Clarke was all alone in the world, and he was doing nothing to make that easier. 

He left his room in a hurry, and his feet took him all the way to Clarke’s door before he realised what he was doing. He hesitated for barely a moment before knocking. 

“Who is it?” Clarke’s voice was muffled.

“It’s Bellamy,” he called back, “I just wanted to–”

He stopped abruptly, because the person opening the door wasn’t Clarke, it was Axton, and he was _shirtless._

He tried to ignore it, but this time there was no questioning that immediate pang in his chest – that was jealousy, no excuse. His anger rose, both at seeing Axton in Clarke’s room in the early morning without a shirt on, and at his own feelings, and he founds himself crossing his arms and unconsciously squaring up to the man. 

“Can I help you?” Axton asked smoothly, running his fingers lazily through the mess of blonde bedhead atop his skull. He was smiling warmly, like it was a perfectly natural occurrence for him to be in Clarke’s room looking the way he did. 

Bellamy curled his fist into the crook of his elbow, trying to shove his annoyance down, and not doing a very good job of it. 

“Uh… yeah, I just wanted to see if Clarke was alright? I haven’t seen her in a while, and no-one else seems to have heard from her, and–”

“So _now_ you care if she’s alone?” Axton snapped haughtily, rising to his full height, taller than Bellamy. 

He clenched his teeth, jaw working, “I always cared.”

He heard Clarke make a small noise from wherever she was, but he couldn’t see her, and Axton was staring at him like he was the one doing something wrong. 

“Yeah?” Axton asked, tilting his head. _“Be more obvious.”_

“Ax, stop it,” Clarke called out, and the man at least had the sense to duck his head sheepishly. Clarke padded into view, barefoot and seemingly only wearing a robe. Bellamy tried not to think about why that was affecting him so much, and instead tried to catch her eye, but she was staring at his shoulder. “I’m fine, Bellamy.”

“Are you still coming to this… ball, thing?” Why were the right words suddenly so evasive?

“She wouldn’t miss it,” Axton said. 

Bellamy glared over at him and took a menacing step forward, “Was I asking you?”

Rather than cowering away, Axton simply smiled like he knew something Bellamy didn’t. “You were wrong, Clarke, he _does_ still love you.”

Bellamy’s mouth fell open slightly and he whipped his head back to look at Clarke, who was staring at the floor. She was fiddling with the tie on her robe, and all he wanted was to reach out and take her two restless hands in his own. 

“Clarke?” He asked, and she shook her head. 

“It doesn’t matter, Bellamy.”

“It does if you think I don’t _care_ about you, Clarke,” he said, incredulous, “of course it does, _of course I do!”_

“I know,” she said softly, but it wasn’t convincing, and then she was stepping back into the safety of her room, disappearing from view, “I’ll see you at the ball, Bellamy.”

This time, when Axton smiled at him, there was an edge of sympathy to it, and Bellamy still wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off his damn face. 

“She’ll come around, Mr Blake,” Axton said, quietly, so that Clarke couldn’t hear, “she just needs time.”

“Time’s the problem,” Bellamy sighed, “she’s spent far too long on her own.”

“I know.” He paused a moment, surveying him, “I’ll take care of her, Mr Blake. No harm will come to her while she’s in my company.”

Bellamy felt his anger building again, but this time he knew it was only at himself, it was only there as a companion to his pain and self-loathing. He was upset with himself that he’d let his relationship with Clarke become this strained, and it was definitely his fault. Clarke had been reaching out, she had been since the day after Praimfaya, but he’d been oblivious to it. He had continued to ignore her efforts to pull him closer even when he got to Earth and she was _right there,_ she was _right in front of him._ He was the reason it had become this bad; if he had listened to her advice about Wonkru or Eligius, or if he’d just released her instead of putting the flame in Madi, maybe everything would have turned out different. Maybe if he told her why he poisoned Octavia, and the fact that it wasn’t for his ‘family’ of the last six years, but for his family standing chained to a wall in the bunker. The one woman who’d always seen him the way no-one else managed to – as a person worthy of love and respect and _time._

And he still hadn’t found it in himself to give her any. 

He stepped back from the door, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, and turned on his heel without a word. He was walking aimlessly, trying to tamp down his emotions, like he had been for so many years, but Clarke was a wound he’d never quite managed to sew shut, and when he found out she was alive, the stitches had burst entirely. He became an open wound, and the only thing he managed to feel was pain and sorrow and Clarke, Clarke, Clarke.

Before he knew where he was going, he found himself at Murphy’s door, pacing wildly up and down in front of it while he waited for his friend to yank the door open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s wrong?” Murphy asked, sounding more concerned than he had done in a long time. 

“I went to see Clarke, and Axton opened the door,” he replied, clipped, because he was worried that if he spoke too much, all his pent-up feelings would come pouring out, and he wasn’t ready for that.

“Fuck.” Murphy said, but he didn’t sound surprised, he just stepped to the side and let him in. Bellamy collapsed on the couch, his elbows on his knees, propping his head up and Murphy eyed him over. “So, you _finally_ realised you’re in love with the Princess, huh?”

Bellamy glowered, “I always knew, Murphy.”

That was at least enough to garner a surprised expression from the usually cool and collected man in front of him, who suddenly appeared lost for words.

 _“Fuck.”_ Bellamy growled.


	2. Take Me Out, To The Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE BALL IS HERE AND EVERYONE IS ABOUT TO BE VERY MUCH _**SHOOK**_ BY THE SIGHT OF CLARKE IN A DRESS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, lowkey, I am NOT nice to Echo in this fic, so if you have a problem with that, I suggest perhaps taking your viewership elsewhere. I appreciate that people have different opinions about the characters and decisions made in the show, and I respect your right to have those opinions, but that also means that if you like Echo, you should probably avoid this fic. 
> 
> One person in particular has been going around Bellarke fics lately, trashing them for unreasonable reasons, and I understand that you might not like something you read, but then my suggestion is always to just _click out_. Don't cause unnecessary pain to someone who worked hard on something, usually for hours at a time, just because you disagree with their decisions about a ship, or a character.
> 
> Sometimes people will have different opinions to you, and that's okay. 
> 
> But please don't spread hate just because you can. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Remember when I said this was going to be two halves??? AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, yeah I said the same thing about [Set The Dark On Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666828/chapters/36393813), and look how that turned out. :')  
> So it's now going to be three parts, but as I said with STDOF, it's ONLY going to be three parts, so no matter how long the last chapter gets, it's going up as is.

_Take me out, to the black_  
_Tell them i ain't coming back_  
_Burn the land and boil the sea_  
_You can't take the sky from me_  


 

 

 

Someone had delivered him a _suit._

It was hanging outside his quarters, sealed in a see-through garment bag and catching the light ostentatiously. As he approached, he felt it was giving off an ominous air, or maybe that was just his own feelings of foreboding about the ball, now barely an hour away. 

He’d spent the whole day with Murphy, pacing up and down his living area and waiting for the usual Murphy quips and taunts to start flying. But they never had. Murphy had talked him down and then yelled at him for a while, and then talked him down some more. It had been surprisingly helpful, but then, he supposed, Murphy had been on the receiving end of enough of _his_ empowering speeches over the years, it would be a miracle if he _hadn’t_ picked up a few things.

He took the garment bag off the hook and threw it down on the bed, glaring at it as if it was the thing causing all his problems. He was still staring at the suit when Echo walked in, hesitating for only a moment at the sight of him before she moved towards the dresser to get ready herself. 

She was dressed and ready to go in the time it took for him to work up the nerve to put the shirt on and drag the trousers up to his hips. By that point, however, he was beginning to dread the thought of the entire evening, and his heart was thumping painfully in his chest. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” he admitted out loud. 

Echo paused in applying lipstick and frowned at him through the mirror. “Why not?”

“It’s just… it’s _a lot._ I’m uncomfortable being around society like this; around people who value money and appearance. I also- I don’t… I don’t like being the center of attention.”

“What are you talking about?” She looked genuinely baffled, “You’re constantly making speeches and commanding whole groups of people–”

“–that’s different,” he said immediately, “I’m in control of those situations. This is hours of being stared at like a curiosity; because we’re new, because we’re _different._ It’s hours of having to act a certain way to impress people I don’t care about. It’s like being right back on The Ark.”

Echo rolled her eyes and straightened, “we’ve faced murderers and torture and sentient AI’s and _war,_ and you’re afraid of some dancing?”

The back of his knees hit the bed and he went with the momentum, sitting down on the mattress with a thump. The blood was draining from his face. _“Dancing?”_

Echo only sighed, “yes, Bellamy, _dancing._ And suits, and drinking and making a good impression with these people so they don’t see us as a threat.”

“We’re _not_ a threat,” he snapped, defensiveness rising out of his fears.

“I know,” she bent down as if to kiss his cheek and then thought better of it and turned to leave. At the door, she turned and said over her shoulder, “we just have to convince them of that.”

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, motionless, after she left, but after a while he stood up and started pacing. He walked the length of his room, over and over and over. Maybe it would help his mind quieten if he could focus on taking one step after the other, or at least that was what he told himself.

He was anxious and he still wasn’t dressed; his shirt was unbuttoned and his fly was hanging open, his pants barely staying up as he moved. He ran his hands through his hair distractedly, trying to be rationalise with himself, to calm down. There was nothing to worry about and yet he couldn’t relax – part of him was screaming that this was impossible, that nice things didn’t happen to them, that this party was some elaborate trap. 

Someone rapped on his door and he jogged over. At first he thought someone had knocked and run off, until he glanced around to find Murphy there, leaning against the wall. And he was wearing a _suit._

“Oh come on, Bellamy, at least _try_ to look like you want to be there,” Murphy said, giving him a cursory once over, “and maybe, I don’t know, _finish putting your clothes on.”_

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, but he still yanked his pants up and started buttoning his shirt as Murphy followed him into the room. “I can’t believe you actually dressed up. I never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Give it an hour, the jacket’ll be off and the shirt will be unbuttoned. Suspenders are staying on though; gotta give Emori _something_ to hold onto while we–”

“–Gross.”

“While we _dance,_ Blake, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Bellamy paused in adjusting his tie, “Your mind was _born_ in the gutter.”

“Not tonight,” he said tiredly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, Blake, don’t worry about it,” he muttered, and Bellamy decided not to push it; he really needed Murphy on-side tonight, and he wasn’t going to manage that if he antagonised him. 

Finally, he stepped in front of the mirror. 

“Okay?” He asked.

Murphy just rolled his eyes as obviously and dramatically as possible. “That depends on who you’re trying to look good for, now doesn’t it?”

“I hate you,” Bellamy grumbled as the two of them headed for the ball. 

“The feeling’s mutual, dick,” he snarked back, but he still clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder as they reached the ballroom doors.

Whatever Bellamy thought he was expecting immediately went out the window the second they stepped through the doors. In front of them was a grand staircase built out of something like marble, and it led down into one of the biggest rooms he’d ever seen, full of huge pillars like something from a building in all the stories of Ancient Greece and Rome he loved reading so much on The Ark. There were people _everywhere;_ hundreds, maybe thousands of them, and all of them in a beautiful dress or immaculately cut suit. There were three grand chandeliers casting glittering light over the whole room, and the tables near the walls were all adorned in candles, bringing a warmth and closeness to the room that took him by surprise. There were large round tables with chairs around them, lengthy rectangular tables laden with food, and around some of the pillars towards the edges of the room were clusters of sofas and armchairs. 

He immediately spotted their friends sitting under one such pillar; all of them wearing beautiful clothes and sporting a drink or an hors d’oeuvre. They looked happy, or at the very least, more relaxed than he’d seen any of them in a very long time. 

Raven had her hair down, slightly curled by her shoulders, and she was in a red dress short enough to show off her legs, a jacket draped lightly around her shoulders. A quick glance told him the jacket was Shaw’s; the man himself was sitting next to her on the sofa, engaged in a lively debate about something. Miller and Jackson were standing up, arms around each other, and Echo and Abby were sitting down in an armchair, looking up at them as they told an anecdote funny enough to distract Raven from her conversation. The group burst into laughter just as Bellamy and Murphy reached the bottom of the stairs, and he noticed that Madi, Jordan, Octavia and Diyoza had pulled a few chairs from a nearby table and situated themselves on the side of the pillar closest to the buffet table. 

Emori walked into view and he heard Murphy’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of her. 

“Jesus Christ, woman, are you trying to torture me?” Murphy groaned.

“Obviously,” she teased. She was wearing an olive-green dress, made out of some kind of velvety material, and her makeup was coloured to match. In typical Emori fashion, she’d refused to put on heels, and was instead wearing heavy black boots, which Murphy’s eyes lingered on for a moment. 

“It’s working,” he grinned, and immediately tugged her closer for a kiss. 

Bellamy ducked past them, over to their friends, and greeted everyone with all the enthusiasm he could muster. He tapped Madi’s shoulder. She was wearing a light blue dress with decorative buttons up the front and short sleeves.

“You look nice, kid,” he said, smiling warmly. 

“Thanks,” she returned the expression for barely a moment before her face fell back into its stoic _commander_ position, and she tilted her head, “and thank you for coming. I know you didn’t want to, but it’s important, and I know you know that. I appreciate it.”

He suppressed his pained sigh.

“Not going to say anything nice about my attire, Blake?” Diyoza teased, and he chuckled. She was in a plain black dress and comfortable shoes, but she’d livened it up a bit with some jewellery. She shrugged. “Never been one for fancy dress.”

“I love it,” Jordan piped up, beaming widely, “it’s _amazing!_ Everyone looks so wonderful, and the music and the food and the dancing, it’s all just so… _it’s beautiful!”_

Bellamy glanced out over the dancefloor, observing for a moment. He felt a little of Jordan’s enthusiasm rub off on him, but not enough to banish his worries completely.

“You look good, Big Brother,” Octavia said quietly.

He frowned down at her, but not maliciously. He was just taking in her outfit; a navy-blue blouse with some kind of fancy stitching and black leggings with an odd, crushed blue shimmer from her ankles that slowly blended up into the rest of the material. His lips tweaked, “I like your _dress,_ O.”

“We both know I’m not a skirts and tiaras girl, Bell,” she retorted, and he nodded along distractedly, eyes back up and darting through the crowd again. If he had been looking at her, he would have noticed her knowing smile, or the looks she shared with Diyoza and Jordan. 

Russell approached them, wearing an almost regimental outfit; a red jacket with gold trim and tails, the collar fitted snugly against his neck. He was truly the picture of mayoral importance; not only was he dressed the part, but he carried himself as such.

“Good to see you’re all settling in,” he sounded relieved. He hovered a few feet in front of Madi, “do you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” she said politely, and he pulled yet another chair from a nearby table, sitting between Madi and Diyoza and immediately striking up a conversation about the melding of societies and customs.

Bellamy glanced around the ballroom again, catching sight of Axton’s assistant, Callista, dancing with a woman in a light green dress. The yellow of Callista’s and the green of the other woman’s swirled together as they spun across the crowded dancefloor, neither of them ever seeming to lose step or get stuck. 

He looked away, eyes taking in the enormous room with an appropriate amount of awe. 

Bellamy tried to pretend that he wasn’t searching for her in the crowd. He tried even harder to pretend he didn’t notice when she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

In fact, he was trying so hard to appear unfazed that she wasn’t there, that he wasn’t ready when she finally appeared. 

Clarke was standing at the top of the stairs, her arm looped through Axton’s, and her hair hanging in neat curls around her face. 

And she was wearing a _dress._

_He couldn’t breathe._

The dress was a pinkish hue, almost; something hovering between rose and silver, just barely glinting pink in the light. The material hung off her shoulders, clinging to them like the sky clings to the earth - a delicate balance that holds the the world together. The dress gave way to a v-neckline dipping low enough to give Bellamy a heart attack, but not so far down that anyone else would be scandalised. It was cinched at the waist, but where it reached her hips, it fanned out, became a dramatic circle around her, giving her an air of authority even then. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her in anything so simultaneously form-fitting and unrevealing; showing just enough to drive him crazy, and concealing enough that people didn’t think she was a certain kind of ostentatious. Clarke had never been the showing off type – how had Axton managed to convince her to wear such an eye-catching dress? – but she had always stood out, and now… now she was the center of everyone’s attention. He ignored the now familiar pang of jealousy and let his eyes rake down her dress, to where even the hem dragging along the steps and swaying ever so slightly as she walked, managed to hold his attention longer than it should have. He didn’t think it was the dress, not really; the dress had just made him acknowledge what he’d been trying to ignore; that everything Clarke Griffin did was captivating, and he would never not be completely in love with her. 

The two of them reached the bottom of the stairs and started making their way towards the group before he even realised he hadn’t spared a single glance for Axton. He found it hard to care. He couldn’t take her eyes off her if he tried. She was competing against the chandelier for the brightest thing in the room, and she was winning, by a _large_ margin. 

She looked _beautiful._

Breathtakingly so. 

_She looked like a **princess.**_

Bellamy really, really wanted to believe he was fine with the fact that she looked so beautiful she had literally just taken his breath away, but he knew it was going to be a problem. Because she was walking towards them, and their friends hadn’t even noticed yet. Murphy seemed to realise he’d stopped talking and turned to smack him, to get his attention. Then he caught on to where Bellamy was looking, and his jaw dropped. He reached blindly out and smacked the others instead, drawing their attention to the astonishing development of Clarke Griffin in a dress. 

When Clarke arrived in front of them, they were all too shocked to speak, and she fidgeted shyly, ducking her head as if that would hide her from their gazes. 

Shaw was the first to speak. 

_“Oh.”_

Then Emori. 

_“My.”_

Murphy. 

_“God.”_

It was like they’d rehearsed it, it was so synchronised. Then everyone else caught on, and it was like dominoes of open mouths and wide eyes. 

Raven first, then Abby, Octavia, Miller and Jordan. Madi didn’t look as surprised as everyone else, and a smug smile was struggling not to overtake her whole face, which made Bellamy think she must have known about the dress. Echo turned next, the only indication of surprise being a tilt of the head and a slight furrowing between her brows, but it was enough – she was just as shocked as the rest of them, she was just better at hiding it. Diyoza, busy talking to the mayor, was the last to see, but the first to actually manage a sentence. 

“Jesus _Christ,_ Clarke, what are you, the _Princess of Monaco?”_

No-one understood the reference, but Murphy smirked. 

“She’s the princess of _something,”_ he said suggestively, and Clarke’s eyes flared dangerously. He raised his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. Seriously, Princess, you look amazing.”

Clarke blushed crimson and almost looked like she was about to duck away, but Axton slid an arm around her waist. 

“Oh no you don’t, you promised me you’d stay,” he said, a smile on his face and warmth in his voice. He seemed to genuinely care about her.

Bellamy wanted to punch him.

She raised her eyebrows, irritation creasing her forehead, “You promised people wouldn’t stare.”

Axton pretended to wince, “I lied.”

“Jerk,” she said, but her lips were tweaking and she looked less nervous. 

“I don’t know why you’re so scared of attracting attention, Clarke, because a woman like you deserves to be stared at every once in a while. You’re beautiful, and everyone else knows it – why don’t you?” He asked, and she looked uncomfortable again, which Axton immediately noticed. His tone turned teasing, “Besides, if you had come down the stairs and a single person hadn’t looked at you, I would have had them beheaded.”

She laughed, turning her head into his shoulder to try and hide it, and he used the opportunity to whisper something in her ear. She kept her face pressed into his chest, but she reached out and smacked him upside the head with her free hand. He laughed in response, only tugging her closer, into something resembling a hug, and she slid her hand down his neck to his chest and pushed away from him. When she turned back to the group, it was clear that she was annoyed, but she still looked happy, and when Axton prodded her waist, she grinned briefly over at him. 

She still hadn’t looked at Bellamy, and it was bothering him, but he reasoned with himself, deciding that he hadn’t said anything to her yet so she had no reason to look over. Yet he couldn’t help but think that she was actively avoiding his eyes. 

She opened her mouth to say something to the group, when a woman in a skin-tight black dress approached, touching Clarke’s elbow.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but would you like to dance with me? After you’ve danced with Axton, of course.”

Clarke blinked, stunned. 

“She would love to,” Axton said, smiling warmly at the woman, who returned the expression and nodded politely as she left. 

Clarke turned, “why did you do that?”

“She wanted to dance with you, Clarke, not bear your children,” he rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and Bellamy got the feeling they’d had this conversation before. 

“You said I wouldn’t have to dance,” she grumbled. 

“And you don’t,” he placated, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you should. Besides, if you dance the first with me, and the second with Mallory, you won’t have to do any of the work; we’re both excellent dancers.”

“Great,” she said sarcastically.

He only snickered, because another woman had approached, this one significantly shyer than the last, and adorned in green. 

“Miss Griffin? I was wondering if you might like to dance with me later, if you are not too busy?”

This time, Clarke found her voice, “that sounds nice, thank you.”

The girl beamed as she left, and Clarke shot Axton a look of confused panic. He shrugged, “her name is Paloma and she’s good at waltzing, so you’re in safe hands there too.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I remember everything,” he said, shrugging again, like it was nothing, “it’s easy. I just pay attention.”

The third person to approach was a man, and he gave off a general air of smarminess that Bellamy didn’t like. When he asked for a dance, Clarke hesitated for a moment before she accepted and the man slunk off. Axton frowned after him. 

“I’m not entirely sure you should dance with Rainier. He’s… an insistent dance partner,” he said slowly, the meaning behind his words pretty clear. He scooped an arm back around Clarke and tugged her close again, “maybe I’ll just cut in if he gets too personal.”

Clarke bristled, “if he gets too personal I’ll break his nose; I don’t need your help.”

Bellamy snorted, and Clarke’s eyes darted to him before flicking away. She _was_ avoiding looking at him. But why?

Callista approached, “Axton, you’re needed in the kitchen. Something about an emergency with the peaches for the cake.”

He nodded and apologised to Clarke, “I’m sure it won’t take long, I’ll be right back–”

She elbowed him, “Ax, I’m fine, go deal with your emergency.”

He hesitated. 

Clarke frowned, “what?”

He grinned and looked pointedly at Callista, who flushed scarlet. 

“Callista has something she wants to ask you, and I have to be here to see it, or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,” he said, still smirking. 

Callista looked mortified to be put on the spot in front of all of Clarke’s friends, but she quickly straightened and crossed her arms in annoyance, “I don’t care if you’re my superior, Axton, I hate you.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Do you want me to hit him?” Clarke asked. “Or I could trip him while we’re dancing?”

“That would be convenient, yeah,” she smiled, the edges of it getting softer as she stared at Clarke, “but actually, he’s right. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to dance with me? And maybe if you like dancing with me, you could possibly have dinner with me tomorrow?”

The silence following the question was one of anticipation, as everyone leaned forward, waiting for Clarke’s response. To her credit, Clarke barely blinked. 

“I’ll tell you what, if the dancing goes well, we can talk about it,” she said, and Callista nodded nervously a few times as the realisation dawned that Clarke had actually said yes. She seemed to remember that she’d actually come over for a reason and turned back into Axton. 

Callista glared at him as she snatched at his elbow, “Alright, you’ve had your fun, let’s go deal with the plums.”

“Peaches,” Axton corrected. 

“I have literally never cared about anything less,” she deadpanned, and they strode away through the crowd together.

Clarke smiled and turned back to the group. Russell stepped forward, offering his hand, “seeing as my son has left you without a dance partner for the next waltz, would you care to join me?”

She blushed and accepted his hand, and the two of them moved into the crowd, quickly getting lost amongst the coloured skirts milling around.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Clarke was swapping partners with a frequency none of the rest of them had yet seen. Raven had been asked to dance by a few people, and so had Octavia. Emori had been approached, but refused to dance unless John dragged her, and Echo seemed happy drinking champagne in her chair and talking to Miller and Jackson, who also appeared disinclined to dance. 

Madi and Jordan were currently dancing by the food table, shaking their arms and laughing at each other. It was nice to see her acting like a kid for once, and Jordan was more than happy to indulge her. Abby was currently dancing with Russell, but once again, Clarke was nowhere to be seen.

It just kept happening; Clarke would finish a waltz or whatever the other dances were called and make a concerted effort to sit down and have a drink or something to eat, but she still hadn’t succeeded. Every time she returned, someone else would sidle up to her and ask her for a dance, and she would always blush and apologise for her dancing skills, and they would brush off her apologies and return her to the dance floor anyway. 

Her dress was luminous, and it kept catching Bellamy’s eye; he saw glimpses of her through the people, spinning and swaying and dipping. 

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about looking for her now. He was openly staring out into huge expanse of ballroom, searching for another flash of that glowing material. He was so caught up in it that it took him a moment to realise that his friends were talking about her. He frowned, turning, and when he locked eyes with Murphy, he could see the irritation reflected back. 

_Shit._

“Why her?” Raven was asking, glaring down at the small coloured pastry in her hand. “Why do they all keep fawning over _her?_ Is it the dress?”

“She _betrayed us,_ and the people of this planet are going out of their way to make her feel like some kind of royalty.” Echo hissed, “it _disgusts_ me. She deserves no such attention.”

Raven nodded, and Octavia frowned slightly, but didn’t disagree. Bellamy opened his mouth to say something, but Diyoza beat him to it, sidling up to the group with a sly smile. 

“Remember when you helped McCreary take over the village after I had already made a deal with Clarke to keep the peace? Or when you sold Shaw out to me, despite your friend’s _clear_ attachment to him? I don’t believe you hold a moral high-ground here,” she said slowly, raising an eyebrow in challenge. 

Octavia looked suddenly pensive, but Echo was never one to back down from a fight and she squared up to Diyoza from her seat, “nor do you.”

Diyoza laughed, “of course I do. Everything I did, I did in retaliation.”

“You kept us prisoner! We had shock collars!” 

Diyoza just smiled sagely. “As I recall, no-one ever used the shock collar on _you.”_

Echo snapped her mouth shut. 

“In fact, I used the shock collars more on Clarke than I did on any other person _combined,_ and she _forgave me for that._ So why, do you think, you’re finding it difficult to forgive a woman who only left Bellamy behind because he put her daughter in danger?”

Bellamy swallowed. “I’m sorry, did you just say _combined?”_

“Of course, Mr Blake,” Diyoza frowned at him, “you can’t possibly believe you arrived before I managed to torture Miss Griffin for information; you’re not that naïve.”

He felt his stomach clench and he knew his hands were shaking, so he shoved them in his pockets. His rage at Diyoza’s actions, which had abated in the last few weeks, was coming back in full force.

Murphy glanced across at everyone’s wary faces and his own split into a wolfish grin. Bellamy knew before it happened that whatever Murphy was about to do was going to be intentionally antagonistic, he just wasn’t expecting the actual words that came out of his mouth. 

“Hey, look, at least she didn’t nearly _choke_ her to death,” he drawled, punctuating the statement with a pointed glare at Echo.

There was the sound of breaking glass, and Bellamy turned to see Clarke, Axton’s arm around her, her hand in the air in front of her and a smashed champagne flute on the ground around her feet. She looked stricken, and Axton was immediately concerned, tugging her to the side so they were no longer standing in broken glass. One of the servers started cleaning it up. 

“You never told me that,” Axton said quietly, and Bellamy couldn’t help but feel that he’d taken the words right out of his mouth. No-one had told him – not Clarke, and certainly not Echo. 

“It’s… it doesn’t matter,” she said hurriedly, levelling a glare at Murphy, who had the decency to look a little sheepish. 

“Yes it does,” the words slipped from Bellamy’s lips before he had a chance to think about what he was saying, and her head whipped around. She was finally looking at him, completely, her eyes meeting his. They stood that way for a long moment, locked in each other’s gaze.

“No, it doesn’t,” she finally murmured, her eyes dropping, and Axton’s arm tightened around her waist. 

“Who else knew about this?” Bellamy snapped, and he saw Raven fidget slightly, pulling at the bracelets adorning her wrists. He took an angry step forward, “Raven?”

She grimaced. “Yeah, I knew. I was there.”

“You were _there?!_ And you didn’t think to mention it?”

“Didn’t think to _stop it,_ either, for some reason,” Murphy said, and Raven’s guilty expression became more pronounced. 

“Murphy, stop,” Clarke snapped. 

He tapped his finger on his forearm while he pretended to think about it. “No.”

“Murphy,” she said, a warning note in her voice, but he just shook his head and pushed off from the wall, stalking forward.

“No, we’re not having this conversation again, Clarke. You can’t stop me from being angry that Madi had to _command a woman not to strangle her mother to death._ That Echo only stopped when Madi commanded her not to. That people you _care about,_ your _friends,_ watched Echo choking you and didn’t stop her. You can’t stop me from being furious about it, about the fact that you couldn’t breathe while people you trust just watched and let it happen, because _I know exactly how that feels. **Remember?”**_

Clarke’s eyes were swimming with tears, and Murphy looked almost unhinged in his agitation. 

_“Murphy,”_ she said again, but this time her voice was soft, almost cracked, and Bellamy felt his heart crack along with it. 

Murphy only scoffed and threw his hands up, “This is bullshit, Clarke. You can pretend to be okay with it, but I don’t have to and I’m not going to. I’ve _been_ publicly lynched, and I have no interest in letting Echo continue to do it to you.” 

Bellamy was dimly aware that the party was still going on, but their group seemed to exist in a bubble of silence. Murphy was standing, his hands in fists at his sides, staring defiantly around at them while everyone else directed their stares at the floor.

Echo frowned up at him, “if Clarke hadn’t betrayed us, you would never have been shot–”

“–and if she hadn’t taken down Mount Weather, you would still be stuck there,” he cut her off, furious. “If she hadn’t destroyed the City of Light, you would still be stuck _there_ too. If she hadn’t stayed behind in Praimfaya, we would _all_ be dead. Or had you forgotten? She makes the hard decisions and then you blame her for it, and I for one am sick of it. I’m sick of _all_ of you.”

He stormed off through the crowd, and Clarke gently pushed Axton away so she could jog after him, her dress swaying with every step.

“Murphy! Murphy, hold on,” she called after him, but Emori reached her before she could get too far, catching her elbow. She gestured at herself and Clarke nodded, moving slowly back towards the group as Emori ran after her boyfriend. Axton whispered something to Clarke and she sighed, looking so much more like the Clarke he’d known over the last few weeks all of a sudden. She looked tired; worn down and carrying the weight of the world. 

“I’ll get you another drink,” Axton offered, ducking over to the nearest buffet table and smiling as he encountered Madi and Jordan.

Bellamy took a deep breath in through his nose before he turned back to the group.

“You tried to _kill_ Clarke?” He asked Echo, his voice quiet but somehow so loud in the silence.

She raised her eyebrows, “she left you to die.”

“So you thought you’d get revenge for a murder she _didn’t commit?”_

“No, I–”

“Someone ask what happened to the last person who tried to kill Clarke, I dare you,” Octavia interrupted, grinning widely over at Bellamy and raising an eyebrow in challenge. He glanced worriedly at Clarke, and she flicked her eyes between the siblings, something almost like realisation flitting through her. However, she quickly shook her head and frowned, folding her arms around herself as if self-conscious.

A shadow fell over their group.

“I think I’ll collect on that dance now, Miss Griffin,” Rainier had returned and was reaching for Clarke’s waist before she even realised he was there. She shook her head slightly, moving closer to the group, but he was gripping her now, pulling her towards the dancefloor, and she pushed lightly on his chest. 

“Maybe in a few minutes. I’m a little tired and I haven’t eaten anything all afternoon,” she started, and Rainier’s face fell into a scowl. 

“You promised me a dance, Miss Griffin.”

“And you’ll still get it, but I need a small break first,” she rubbed her forehead above her right eyebrow like she had a headache.

He was still holding her, closer than necessary, and she moved to step out of his space. He gripped at her wrist, tighter than necessary, and yanked her back. 

Bellamy’s fury had been bubbling underneath the surface for the last few minutes, but seeing someone manhandle Clarke like that made something inside him shift, and then the anger was boiling over.

“Let go of me,” Clarke said calmly.

“You heard her,” he said, voice lower than usual in his struggle to keep it level.

Rainier only squeezed tighter, making Clarke wince, and turned his glare on Bellamy, “what are you gonna do about, spaceboy?”

“Leave him alone,” Clarke spat, “and let go of me.”

“I just want a _dance,_ Clarke. What’s so wrong with that? You’ve danced with nearly the whole city by now.” He was sliding his other hand up her ribs now and his fingers had barely reached their target before she and she batted his hand away. She lifted her enormous skirt, kicking her leg out and hitting his shin with her sensible heels. He cried out and buckled, letting go of her, and she took a big step back. 

He sprung back to his feet quickly.

“Ah, _I see,_ you’ll put out for _royalty,_ but you don’t want anything to do with us _common_ folk.”

She blinked, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“We’ve all heard about your little _rendezvous_ with the mayor’s son – just can’t resist the power, I guess. Makes sense, coming from the place you do.”

Clarke looked like she’d been slapped.

Bellamy stepped between the two of them and balled his fists by his sides, directing all his pent-up rage at Rainier. _“Back the hell off.”_

He scoffed, “look, stay out of it, this doesn’t concern you. This is between me and Axton’s bitch–”

Bellamy’s fist hit Rainier’s face so hard and fast that it took the rest of him to catch up to the fact that he’d just punched a man. Rainier went down like a bag of rocks, ending up on his knees on the floor, pushing himself up with his hands.

“Bellamy, what are you doing?!” He heard Madi yell out, and he could hear her footsteps jogging over. He was dimly aware that the music around them had faltered, and the people dancing closest had stopped to stare. 

“It was justified,” he growled, stepping back from the man and turning to look at Clarke, but she was just staring down at her hands. “Hey, are you–”

“–I need some air,” she said, and then spun on her heel and practically sprinted away. 

He moved to follow her, but then he felt a sharp pain in his back, a blow right to his kidneys, and he stumbled. Within seconds, Rainier had shoved him to the floor and was throwing punches wildly. Bellamy hit back, catching him on the underside of the jaw and sitting on top of him, delivering another heavy blow to Rainier’s cheek.

He felt something on his shoulder and he tried to shake it off, and then two pairs of hands were dragging him up and off the other man. He looked up to see Axton on one side and Miller on the other. 

“I think he got the message,” Axton said lightly, his tone completely at odds withe look of utter disgust he was directing at Rainier. Guards were sprinting towards them, and the music had all but stopped. Axton waved the guards around for a minute, gestured at the music to start up again, and waited for the melody to start before he turned back to Bellamy and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years. Thank you for saving me the trouble.”

“Hey man, you good?” Miller asked, thumping him on the back. 

He nodded, shaking off the pangs of pain.

_Where had Clarke gone?_

“Well,” Shaw said matter-of-factly, “up until the punching, it was a real nice party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that last line of Shaw's is a direct quote from the Firefly episode that initially gave me this idea! It's actually one of the specific lines that made me go; "yeah that would happen in The 100", so I figured I should pay homage to it with the dramatic final line of the chapter. 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it! Thank you so much for reading it, I love your kudos and especially your comments SO MUCH <3
> 
> Only one more chapter to go!!!!


	3. You Can't Take The Sky From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Someone ever tries to kill you, you try to kill 'em right back." - Captain Mal, Firefly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!!
> 
> I'm so sorry I've been so absent, but I had 5 uni assessment due in, which took me most of November and December, and then Christmas and New Years happened, and then I read the stuff I wrote for Part 3 before all that stuff and I decided that I hated it and had to rewrite it completely, but it's okay because I'M HERE NOW!! (I really am very sorry I took so long)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a little different, because I realised that part of the reason it wasn't working was because I needed a little bit of Clarke's POV. This is still very much a Bellamy-centric story, but there's a few pockets of Clarke's perspective in there now as well. Clarke and Bellamy's POV's are separated by one long dividing line, but the time jumps are still signalled by the 3 small lines, so hopefully that clears up any confusion!
> 
> There are also three parts of this story where there is music playing. 
> 
> The first one is the most significant, and happens after the line, _**"Bellamy knew he was dreaming"**_. The song for that sequence is [Petrichor, by Ludovico Einaudi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8xeStLTnhM) and you don't have to listen to it, but it was vital to the scene in my head while I was writing it, so I thought it might be helpful to leave it here!
> 
> The other two pieces of music happen one after the other in the same scene, which starts at the line, _"When he arrived at the entrance to the garden, it was raining."_ The first is [Two Trees](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bwChGwzL7U) and the second is [Burning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTrCP5W25Ko), which comes in after the line, _"The music faded out..."_ both pieces are also by Ludovico Einaudi and I highly recommend listening to them, because they're beautiful!
> 
> ...also there might be a tiny bit of very mild smut. What can I say, I aim to misbehave and no power in the verse can stop me.

_There's no place, I can be,_  
_Since I've found Serenity._  
  
_And you can't take the sky from me._  


 

 

 

 

 

Bellamy’s ears were still ringing but he wasn’t sure if that was the aftermath of the fight or just the general insanity that had gone on in the last fifteen minutes. The growing headache wasn’t lessened by the sudden screeching of feedback from the band. He glanced over to see Rainier standing on the stage where he’d elbowed one of the musicians out of the way.

“For your insolence in the face of our hospitality, I challenge you to a duel, Bellamy Blake.” 

He froze. 

“A what now?” Diyoza said from behind him, once again taking the words right out of his mouth. 

“You will be ready to fight at the strike of midnight, and you may pick your weapon of choice, and your second. If you fail to accept my challenge, you will be insulting our customs and this will be seen as a direct attack on our nation. You have an hour.” Rainier elbowed the man closest to him as he stomped from the stage. 

If he thought the ball had ground to a halt before, now _everyone_ had stopped, heads craning to see him through the crowds. He frowned, turning to Axton.

“Uh,” he started, before realising that he had no idea what to ask.

Axton sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “For the sake of the gods, I’m going to kill that man. I’m so sorry Bellamy, I… you can’t refuse this challenge.”

“What?” Miller stepped forward aggressively, but Axton just raised his hands in surrender.

“Unfortunately, Rainier is right – if a duel is issued, refusing to accept it is unacceptable, by the laws of Persephone. It’s a fight to the death, one on one, and if you win, you cannot be challenged again.”

“But if I lose, I die, right?” Bellamy asked wryly, looking to his sister, who suddenly seemed very interested in the seam of her shirt. 

“I am really so terribly sorry,” Axton said, sounding completely genuine. “I would happily offer myself as your second.”

“Second, like…?”

“If you cannot continue the duel under reasonable conditions, I step in.”

“I, uh… thanks, Axton,” he said awkwardly. Then he stepped forward and said quietly, just for him to hear, “Do you know where Clarke went? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s probably out in the rose garden. I can go get her if you wish–”

“–no, I need to do this myself.”

“Good man,” Axton said encouragingly, and Bellamy had to acknowledge that he may have misjudged the man. He thanked him and made a move towards the door Clarke had disappeared through. Axton turned to the stage to get the party started again, and as Bellamy walked, he heard the sounds of the ball returning to normal behind him. He was halfway down a long corridor when something caught his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He knew before he looked who it was going to be.

“What do you want, Echo?”

“You’re going after her,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” He squared up to her, seeing something like bitterness flash in her eyes. 

“If you go after her, Bellamy, we’re done.” She said it like an ultimatum, like she was certain he’d make the right choice, and he hated himself because it was the easiest decision he’d ever made. 

“Then I guess we’re done.” He yanked his arm from her grip and took a step back.

Her face fell for barely a moment before it contorted in anger. “It was always her, wasn’t it? The second you found out she was alive you wanted me gone.”

“No. No, I loved you Echo, I really did. I love Clarke, but I loved you too. I thought you’d changed, so I let you in, and now I see that you never changed at all. You just… you’re exactly the same as you always have been.”

She moved closer and he took another step back. The hurt on her face was palpable but he was surprised to find that he no longer wanted to make her feel better. He spun on his heel, and he made it a few feet before she yelled out. 

“I did it for you!”

He stopped, stock still, and tried very, very hard not to punch the nearest wall.

“You tried to kill Clarke.” He said quietly, not even glancing over his shoulder. He kept his gaze locked onto the chequered marble tiles beneath his feet and took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the anger rising in his chest. “Even if I had died, even if Clarke was directly responsible, you _know,_ you _have to know,_ that I would never want you to do that. You didn’t do it for me, Echo. You did it for _you.”_

He heard her take a step, the click of her heels on the marble like another punch to the gut. She wasn’t going to stop trying to follow him. So he said the only thing he had the energy left to say. 

“Clarke would have never made me choose.”

And then he turned the corner and left her there, wallowing in her own choices.  
  
  


  
  
  
Clarke pressed her palms over her eyes, trying to block out the headache coming from behind her eyelids and stop the tears from leaking onto her dress. 

There was the sound of hurried footsteps, and she looked up to find Murphy and Emori in front of her. Their expressions went from worried to sympathetic in a heartbeat, and they sat down either side of her. Murphy offered her a handkerchief from his suit pocket and she dabbed at her cheeks. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, “I know it’s stupid–”

“It’s not,” Emori said. “We heard what happened. We came back to the group just as you ran out.”

“If that dick touches you again, I’ll break his face.” Murphy hissed.

Clarke managed a watery laugh, “It’s not Rainier I’m crying about, I… When Bellamy stepped between us, for a moment it was like nothing had changed. He put himself between me and danger, like I would do for him, just like always. And then I realised that that isn’t who we are anymore. He doesn’t care about me like that, and I was just kidding myself, and then he… he turned and looked at me, with those stupid brown eyes and it was like I was back in front of Camp Jaha all over again. Saying goodbye to him and praying it wouldn’t break me, and I just… Now I feel like that every single day, like I’m constantly saying goodbye to him and everything I used to be and seeing that look in his eyes, I… I couldn’t be in there anymore. It hurt too much, it… it _hurts_ too much, I can’t do this anymore, Murphy, I’m not strong enough, I–”

“Whoa, hey, don’t say shit like that Griffin,” he put a hand on her shoulder. “You know what you need? A drink.”

“And something to eat,” Emori added.

“And a dance with yours truly,” Murphy said, grinning. 

“Wow, yeah, that’ll fix everything,” Clarke said sarcastically, but she was smiling at him, and he draped an arm around her shoulders for a side-hug.

* * *

* * *

* * *

She had been surprised, the other day, when Murphy asked to come with her, Madi and Axton, but she really shouldn’t have been. Murphy was the king of doing whatever the hell he wanted, everyone else be damned, and he wasn’t going to stop talking to her just because everyone else was. While they were walking around the garden, he had cracked wise and talked shit like he usually would, and she found herself feeling guiltier and guiltier until finally she snapped and apologised to him. He had frozen on the spot, completely gobsmacked, and Axton had made a terrible excuse to drag Madi away so that Clarke could explain. She apologised again, stuttering through it, refusing to make excuses for herself, simply telling him that she blamed herself for what happened to him and that she would understand if he never wanted to speak to her again. He had looked at her like she was crazy and said, “I don’t hate you, Griffin. I was pissed at you for a while, until I realised that it didn’t matter how angry I was at you, you would always hate yourself more. Once I worked that out, I figured I was just wasting energy being mad.”

“You don’t hate me?” She’d asked.

He had just rolled his eyes and started walking again, already launching into an anecdote from the Ring which ended in Monty tackling him to the ground. Clarke had followed, listening to him talk and chiming in, tentatively at first, but by the time they caught up with Axton and Madi by the lake, they were talking like they used to, like nothing had changed.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Murphy released her. “I’ll be right back,” he said, ducking back down the corridor and into the main hall. Emori reached out and squeezed Clarke’s hand, not saying anything, just staying with her while she tried to get her breathing under control. 

“This is pathetic,” Clarke muttered to herself. “I’m the one who screwed this all up, it’s my fault, and I don’t expect anyone to forgive me, especially not Bellamy, it’s just…”

“You love him,” Emori finished for her. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Clarke whispered, the first time she’d ever admitted it out loud, even to herself, “I love him.”

“You don’t have to hate yourself for loving him, you know,” Emori said, matter-of-fact, like it was an easy idea to swallow, “you don’t have to keep punishing yourself for still wanting him after everything that’s happened. You both made mistakes. You both hurt each other. You’ll be okay; you’re Bellamy and Clarke, you’ll always be okay in the end.”

“What if we’re not?”

“You will be.”

“You can’t possibly know that.” Clarke huffed. 

Emori leaned in, making sure to catch her eye before she spoke, “Clarke, I was on the Ring with that man after we thought you died. Trust me, if I’m certain of anything in this world, it’s that Bellamy Blake will forgive you no matter what, because he can’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

Clarke opened her mouth, closed it, and shut her eyes, unable to come up with any response that would adequately sum up how she felt about that. 

Her eyes were still closed when she heard footsteps thundering down the corridor, but she knew instantly that it wasn’t Murphy. She squeezed Emori’s hands tighter. She knew those footsteps. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice called out. 

“Do you want me to tell him to leave you alone?” Emori whispered, and Clarke realised that the place they were sitting in the garden was hidden from the door. All it would take was for Bellamy to walk down the right path, however, and he would stumble upon them. She wracked her mind for an answer to Emori’s question; not sure if she was ready to look Bellamy in the eye again, but not wanting to tell him to leave. She was still trying to come to a decision when she heard the unmistakeable sounds of Bellamy entering the small clearing. 

“Clarke, are you okay?” He asked, closer than she expected. 

“She’s fine,” Emori said, and Clarke had a feeling the two friends were sharing some kind of meaningful look, because the next time Bellamy spoke, he sounded further away. 

“Do you, uh, need–”

He was cut off by Murphy’s loud arrival, “Alcohol! The answer to all of life’s problems!”

He sat down next to her and she opened her eyes to find him looking concernedly back. He passed over a glass and she took a sip, wincing as it burned all the way down her throat. “Rum?” She guessed.

“Whiskey.”

“Thanks,” she said, throwing the rest of it back and reaching for the other one in his hand. 

“Whoa, Princess, slow down there,” Murphy said, but he let her take it anyway. She sipped at the second one more slowly, taking deep breaths as she worked up the courage to turn her head and look at Bellamy. He was hovering directly in front of her, a few feet away, giving her space but still invading her consciousness. She supposed it was always going to be like that with Bellamy. 

With great force of will, she managed to tilt her head in his direction. He was still in that goddamn suit, the one that took her breath away when she’d first seen him. The one Axton had teased her about as they stood in front of him. The one that made it hard to ignore just how very attracted she was to her best friend. He looked more ruffled than she’d last seen him, hair a mess, part of a sleeve ripped, and his shirt hanging half untucked from his belt. She hated that a part of her was acknowledging that he was somehow hotter now than he had been when he looked more put together. 

“What do you want, Bellamy?” She asked quietly, unable to conjure anything else to say. 

He took a step forward, and when she automatically flinched, not expecting it, his expression shuttered and he moved back. She wanted nothing more than to reach out, to pull him close and tell him that it wasn’t him she was afraid of, but herself. Instead, she just dropped her gaze to the collar of his shirt, unwilling to meet his eyes. 

“I wanted… to make sure you were okay,” he said. He started wringing his hands, and she couldn’t help but think about when he’d done the same thing after Octavia captured her. Unsure that poisoning his sister was the right thing, panicking internally because he couldn’t show it in case someone from Wonkru realised what he’d done, and wringing his hands in exactly the same way. Her heart sank and the wave of emotion that hit her was so strong that she almost flinched again, but she held it together. 

“I’m okay,” she replied, trying to make her tone match the words and failing miserably. “It’s… been a long night.” She finished lamely. 

Murphy snorted and she elbowed him. 

“Are you…? Did he hurt you?” Bellamy asked, and there was something in his voice that made her heart thump erratically against her chest. That deep note of unwavering protectiveness, the rage at the idea that someone might have hurt her, the undercurrent of worry – it was all out there in the open, and she felt herself tearing up again. 

“No, he didn’t, it’s- I’m fine.” She stammered. 

She watched his chest fall with his relieved exhale. “Good,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but before he could, Axton appeared at the other end of the clearing and made a beeline for them.

“No, please, come on in,” Murphy said sarcastically, “sit down, make yourself at home. It’s not like she came out here to be alone or anything.”

Axton hesitated, “Sorry. I actually… I knew you wanted to be alone, so I was going to leave you be, uh… I actually came out here for Bellamy.”

They all whipped their heads around to look at Bellamy, who was fidgeting awkwardly in the corner, pulling at the leaves of the nearest vine. Axton mouthed something at him and he shook his head, prompting Axton to clap him on the shoulder. 

“I need to steal him,” and then the two of them were gone, striding back the way Axton had come. The last Clarke saw of them was Bellamy’s agitated glance over his shoulder, like he wanted to catch her eye for some reason. She wasn’t sure why, and it bothered her. 

Murphy saw her pensive expression and grinned, “I’ll go work out what’s going on. I better see you back on that dancefloor in the next hour, Griffin. You haven’t even seen my killer moves yet.”

“Yes I have,” she pointed out.

“Not up close and personal you haven’t,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “better not fall in love with me, Princess, I’m taken.”

He winked as he left, and Emori rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself, and Clarke found that she was feeling better already.  
  
  


  
  
  
“Why didn’t you tell her about the duel?” Axton asked once they were out of earshot, somewhere deep in the gardens; so far in that they couldn’t even hear the music anymore.

Bellamy could only shrug helplessly. 

“What if, god forbid, you’re killed this evening? What am I supposed to tell her when she asks me why you didn’t tell her what happened?”

“That I’m sorry and that…” He trailed off, unable to put it into words. “She knows the rest,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. 

Axton pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbled something under his breath, and then sucker punched him. 

The pain of the blow rocketed out from his cheek, and he dimly registered that he was lucky it hadn’t been in the nose. Axton might look like a posh city boy with clean hands, but that man had a right hook that could bend steel. Or at least that’s what it felt like when it was dealt directly to his face. Bellamy barely had time to blink before he was being shoved, hard. He fell into a bush, the little twigs and leaves scratching him as he scrambled to his feet.

“What the fuck was that?”

Axton threw him a long wooden stick, grasping one of his own, and started advancing, and Bellamy realised that this was why Axton had pulled him aside – he was making sure he was ready to fight. Considering he only had half an hour left to train, he should probably be thanking the other man, but he was still reeling from the punch.

“You’re an idiot, that’s what!” Axton said, swinging a fist, and Bellamy barely managed to step out of its way. “She _doesn’t_ know the rest, you absolute fucking moron. That woman loves you and she has no idea that you love her back, and you want me to just tell her that you’re sorry, and hope that that’s enough for her? It wouldn’t be. She would be crushed, Bellamy, destroyed!”

He flicked the stick around his fingers before jabbing it towards Axton, who deflected it. 

“I know that,” Bellamy said.

“I don’t think you do,” Axton thrust the stick towards him with one hand and aimed another punch with the other, and Bellamy dodged the fist and parried the makeshift blade. “I think you’re so busy trying to tell yourself that she’ll be fine, that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

Bellamy felt that familiar pang of jealousy behind his ribs again, that Axton was claiming to know Clarke better than him despite only knowing her for a few days. He knew it was irrational, that Axton was trying to help him, but he couldn’t help it. He growled and kicked out, catching the man in the stomach and sending him sprawling against the tiles. 

“Shit, Bellamy, what the hell’s going on?!” Murphy yelled out as he rounded the corner to see what was, admittedly, not a great looking picture. 

Axton got to his hands and knees, one palm pressed against his chest as he tried to catch his breath, and Bellamy winced guiltily. Axton only grinned, “That’s the kind of rage you’re gonna need if you want to beat Rainier. You’ve got to _want it,_ Bellamy. You have to. You can’t let him win.”

Bellamy offered out a hand, helping him to his feet. 

“Sorry.”

Axton just shook his head, “Don’t apologise to me, Bellamy. Just win this goddamn fight. I refuse to be the one to tell Clarke that you’ve died. She’ll kill me.”

 _“Died?!”_ Murphy was glaring between the two of them, and they nodded solemnly at him. 

Axton started explaining the situation to Murphy, who looked more and more disturbed as the story unfolded. Bellamy tried to put his friend’s worry out of his mind, but when even Murphy looked concerned, it usually meant there was a problem.

He instead tried to commit his last glance back at Clarke to memory; her dress billowing out from the bench, making the dark garden brighter for its presence, or maybe that was just her. Her eyes wide and brimming with tears as she sought him out too, gazes meeting for a tenth of a second before she vanished from his view. This wouldn’t be like the last time they separated – this time he would keep her in his mind, he would remember her as he wished to. As his best friend, his co-leader, the woman he loved. Dying seemed like less of a burden when he knew Clarke cared about him – maybe that was how she’d felt when Praimfaya happened. His heart sank with the now familiar anchor of Clarke's sacrifice all those years ago, and he tried to shake it off and listen to Murphy's angry rant.

He tuned back in just in time to hear Murphy shout, "Great idea, fight psychopaths to the death, because dying will solve all your problems!"

* * *

* * *

* * *

Some kind of gong sounded, and Bellamy somehow knew before he was told that it was the noise signalling ten minutes to the fight. He rolled his shoulders back and started moving in the direction of the ballroom. The music was getting louder as they walked, and when they reached the enormous double doors and pushed them open, it became almost oppressively so, piercing the air threateningly. 

Octavia, Diyoza, Madi and Russell rushed over the second they entered. 

“What were you thinking?” Octavia asked, at the same time as Madi said,

“Where’s Clarke?”

He chose to ignore the first question, “She’s okay, she’s in the rose garden, she wanted some time alone.” 

But he’d barely finished the sentence before Madi was brushing past him, jogging away to find her adoptive mother. Russell ran over the rules with him again, and he nodded along until the mayor was satisfied. Diyoza just watched it all silently, a wry kind of amusement in her eyes. He glanced around; Miller and Jackson were talking to a group of native Persephonians to his left, Abby was standing by the drinks table frowning into a glass of wine, and Jordan and Shaw were leaning against a pillar directly ahead of him having what looked like a serious discussion. Raven was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Echo.

“You certainly know how to introduce yourself to new people, Mr Blake,” Diyoza said, quirking her lips upwards so he knew she was joking. He chuckled humourlessly in response.

“It’s a talent,” he quipped.

“It’s certainly something,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure I’m not who you want to hear this from, but it would be greatly appreciated if you didn’t die in this fight, Mr Blake.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said lightly.

She grabbed his wrist in a vicelike grip, voice dropping as she leaned in. “Do better. I’m not sticking around to clean up the mess if these people try and survive without you.”

She turned on her heel and stalked away, and Bellamy was left wondering if that was her way of tell him that she cared. Octavia approached him, hovering awkwardly.

“Worried he’ll finish the job you started?” He asked, and she blanched, face contorting into something resembling worry. She looked as though she might try and hug him, but before either of them moved, another gong rang out – one minute to the fight. Axton grabbed his elbow and started leading him to the centre of the ballroom, where the crowd had started gathering around a big empty area. Rainier was already standing there, waiting by a wall full of various weapons with a vengeful look in his eye. Bellamy had a strong sense of déjà vu. Just as they started trudging through the crowd to reach the center, he heard his sister speak, quietly, so that he wasn’t even sure he was supposed to hear.

“Good luck, big brother.”  
  
  


  
  
  
Murphy burst into the clearing, panting and frantic, gesturing back towards the ballroom. 

Clarke and Emori shared a confused look. 

“Uh,” Emori said, brows furrowed, “what’s wrong, John?”

He forwent words and simply jerked them to their feet, already jogging away from them and beckoning for them to follow. He was halted in his tracks when Madi came sprinting in, barrelling into him and almost taking them both to the floor. They righted themselves and Madi looked immediately to Clarke. “Bellamy’s about to have a fight to the death with the guy that attacked you.”

“He WHAT!?” Clarke yelled. Her heart clenched painfully, panic setting in at the thought of losing Bellamy.

The four of them were running now, following Murphy’s lead, and Emori yanked on his arm to get his attention. “Babe, _explain.”_  
  
  


  
  
  
Rainier threw off his jacket and rolled up his white sleeves, posturing for the crowd and Bellamy took his cue to do the same, although with less preening. He also undid his tie and tossed it to the floor, although Rainier kept his on, too busy roaring excitedly and flexing at the crowd. Russell stood in the centre of the circle and went over the rules one last time, for the crowd, before asking Bellamy to choose a weapon, seeing as it was him the challenge was issued to. 

Bellamy picked swords, and Rainier accepted the choice with glee. If that wasn’t enough to make Bellamy’s heart sink, the other man’s clear skill with the blade was. 

Within seconds, he was backing up towards the masses, desperately holding his own against the relentless onslaught. He didn’t even notice Russell move into the crowd, but he must’ve done because the circle was empty, the open area taunting him even as he continued backing towards the edge. He felt the people move around him, creating space where he was losing it, and he fought the other man back enough to change directions, to head back towards the centre of the circle. 

Rainier brought the sword swinging down over him and he just barely managed to bring his own up in time, stopping his head from being cleaved in two. Rainier’s full weight was bearing down, and Bellamy dropped to one knee, straining against it. His arms were already aching, but he wasn’t planning to lose this fight. Everyone could be beaten. He just needed to hold out long enough to find a weakness. 

He sucked in a breath as he teetered a little, the blade wavering a little closer to his face.

“What’s wrong, Blake, can’t fight without your bitch to back you up?” Rainier asked, and Bellamy felt rage building up within him, rage on Clarke’s behalf, rage that he couldn’t have held her just one last time. He felt Axton’s advice all the way to his core, _“That’s the rage you’re gonna need if you want to win this,”_ and he hated that he was right. 

Bellamy snorted. He couldn’t help it; he huffed out a laugh, despite everything. Rainier’s face contorted in confusion, but Bellamy barely registered it, fury building in his chest. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened and he leaned back a little, letting the other man think he was gaining an advantage. He flicked his eyes up, making direct contact with him, staring him down. “That was a mistake.” 

Then he pretended to fall back, twisting his sword to give himself enough time to move before diving to the side. Rainier’s sword came down on the marble floor, the noise ricocheting around the ballroom. He snarled, lunging for him, but Bellamy was on his feet now, and easily manoeuvred out of the way.

The entire crowd seemed to be holding its breath. 

Rainier’s confident mask slipped, just a little, and Bellamy felt that righteous anger pumping strength through his veins. He stepped forward, sword slicing through the air, and his opponent didn’t quite dodge it in time, getting caught in the forearm. 

He stumbled and Bellamy swung again. 

Rainier deflected it, but Bellamy had the upper hand now, and he knew it. 

Their fighting became less one-sided, equal measures of blows and parries as they launched themselves at each other, blades clanging ominously. 

The crowd parted and he glimpsed Clarke shoving people out of the way to get to the front, stopped from leaping into the fight only by Diyoza’s hand on her shoulder. She was staring at him, eyes wide and worried, and his heart thundered in his chest. He refocussed on the fight, ducking as the sword flew towards his neck and sticking his leg out, sweeping Rainier off his feet. The man rolled to his knees before he could deal a blow, and their blades clashed once again. 

Now he was the one on top, leaning his weight into the other man, but he knew he couldn’t beat him like that, so he spun to the right, dealing a painful blow to Rainier’s elbow with the hilt of his sword. He cried out, yanking his arm close to his side and just barely keeping hold of his own weapon. 

Rainier was losing.

Then, something unexpected happened. 

Rainier ran at him, sword flailing wildly, and he dodged it easily. At first, he couldn’t understand why he’d even done it – it was a completely ineffective attack. 

But when he moved to fight back, he felt a sharp jab of pain in his rib. Then it sparked upwards and into his arm, jolting him so hard he released the hilt of his sword. It clattered to the ground and Bellamy fell to his knees beside it, vision swimming. Something wasn’t right here. When he lowered his fingers to the source of the pain, his fingers came away stained in blood, and flickering with some kind of weird orange light. Yeah, blood was definitely not supposed to look like that. 

He felt another jolt, charging through his whole body this time, and he lurched forward, catching himself on his hands just before his face collided with the ground. 

Something was very, very wrong.  
  
  


  
  
  
Clarke could only stare in horror as the two men battled, and even Diyoza’s reassuring words weren’t enough to calm her. This was _insane._ They were supposed to be done with this archaic bullshit, but here Bellamy was, fighting in another gladiator match to the death. 

Bellamy met her eyes, just once, before he was thrown back and ended up facing away from her, metal hitting metal and feet scrambling for purchase on the smooth marble floor.

It was a discordant sight – the beautiful dresses and clean-cut suits encircling a brawl better suited to the mud and grime of Earth – and Clarke felt bile rising in her throat. She wanted to go back in time and kill every Roman poet who romanticised them. They weren’t romantic, or heroic, they were rough and painful and everyone watching was just waiting for one party to die. It was despicable. 

“I’m so sorry,” Axton said from her other side, “it’s an ancient tradition, stemming from back when we were on Earth. We haven’t had a challenge in decades; the only reason the law hasn’t been struck from the books is because no-one has even thought of it in so long.”

“That’s a comfort, thanks,” Clarke snapped sardonically, and he winced. 

They watched as Rainier ran at Bellamy, except…

Clarke felt Diyoza’s grip tighten on her shoulder. She whipped her head around, “You saw that too, right?”

Diyoza nodded. “Rainier cheated.”

She turned back to Axton. “Ax, you’ve gotta stop this fight, Rainier just stabbed Bellamy.”  
She watched as Rainer slid his palm past his belt, something glinting in the light as he did, vanishing when he lifted his hand away. He’d hidden the knife.

“It’s a sword fight–”

“No, you don’t understand, he had a blade hidden in his boot, he’s cheating, he just–”

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence, because Bellamy’s sword slipped from his fingers and he ended up on his hands and knees, arms shaking as he tried to hold himself up. He sat back on his legs just in time to see Rainier advancing on him. He picked up his weapon and blocked the downward sweep, but Clarke could see his arms juddering, could see Rainier’s self-satisfied smirk, and she knew Bellamy had lost. He was going to die.

And he knew it. 

He wasn’t even looking at his opponent, he was gazing over his shoulder, scanning the crowd until he found her. There was a silent apology in his eyes, a despair that she couldn’t reach the depths of. He was saying goodbye. She shook her head at him, pleading, _“Bellamy!”_ but there was resignation between his brows. She tried to run in there and Axton caught her around the waist, stopping her. 

“There’s no proof he cheated, I didn’t even see it and I’m standing at the same angle you are,” Axton said. “I believe you, but you can’t stop this. Not if you want your friends to live, because my people will take it out on yours if you try. I’m so sorry.”

“No!” Clarke struggled against him, never once taking her eyes off Bellamy, “No, you can’t, _you can’t!”_

“There’s nothing I can do,” Axton muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

Clarke shook her head adamantly, searching for something, anything that would help. An idea struck her and she gripped frantically at Axton’s arm, “Make me his second!”

“What?”

“Axton, he’s been poisoned, he’s going to die either way, make me his second, now!”

Axton responded by releasing her, and she leapt forward, gathering her skirt up as she did. She kicked forward and her sharp heel came down on the back of Rainier’s knee. He buckled, roaring in pain. She twisted her foot harder, forcing him to the ground.

Bellamy fell forward onto his hands again, unable to support his own weight, and she wanted nothing more than to go to him, but she needed to prove that he’d been poisoned first. 

The crowd was rumbling and she heard some voices calling out in protest, but she ignored it. She stormed forward, heels clicking, and placed a foot on Rainier’s chest, hand wrapping around his tie and yanking it to hold him in place. 

“I’d stay down if I were you,” she growled. She wrenched his shirt out of his belt and a tiny blade came with it, tumbling to the ground. She picked it up and held it aloft, making sure to dig her heel into Rainier’s stomach as she did. A shocked gasp ripped through the crowd. She yelled to the masses, “This is blatant cheating! It’s dishonourable, cowardly and disgusting, and therefore this parasite of a man forfeits. He loses!”

There was one long moment of silence where she wasn’t sure they were on her side, and then Russell and Axton were dragging Rainier to his feet and the crowd was booing and hissing and surging towards him. She took that as a sign that she was in the clear for interrupting the fight and backed away from the civil unrest. 

Clarke ran to Bellamy, only to find him lying on his side on the floor, a sheen of sweat covering him and his body convulsing with shocks. She knelt down beside him, discarding the knife as she brushed his hair from his face. 

“Hey Princess,” he muttered. “Good day to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not dying here,” she said angrily. “We did not survive hundreds of years and wars and Praimfaya and everything else just for you to die today.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, eyes unfocussed and glassy, and she felt panic infiltrating every part of her. Her whole being was screaming that she couldn’t lose him, not again. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, and then his eyes closed and his head lolled back and Clarke’s heart almost stopped. 

“No, no, no,” she gripped his cheeks, “Bellamy? Stay with me, okay? You can’t- you can’t leave us, okay, you just can’t. We all need you, Bellamy, I need you.”

Octavia appeared on her right, fists clenched in worry as she looked down at her dying brother, and Abby and Jackson were crouching on this other side of his unconscious body, examining the wound. Diyoza’s hand was back on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, and she hoped faintly that someone was helping Madi talk to Russell. She could hear Miller and Murphy shouting something behind her but it was barely registering. All she could see was the pallor of Bellamy’s skin, and all she could hear was his voice fading as he called her Princess. She knew there were tears on her cheeks, and she was dimly aware of her own voice still pleading with him to stay.

Raven and Echo appeared suddenly, stopping dead as they took in the scene before them. 

“We need to get him to our hospital,” Axton ordered. Two people appeared sporting a gurney of some kind, and everyone else shifted away so that they could lift him onto it, but Clarke couldn’t move. Axton reached out to her, “Clarke, you’ve got to let go of him. We’re going to save him, I promise you.”

She sobbed, lifting her hands from Bellamy’s clammy cheeks, and before she could blink, the gurney was being whisked out of the ballroom. She felt herself crumbling, collapsing in on herself. The dread was seeping through her pores, emanating out to blanket everything around her, and her body was wracked with agonising sobs, pain reaching all the way down to her fingertips. There was blood on her dress, Bellamy’s blood, and she wanted to scream, to cry, to break in two. She slumped against the weight of her panic, and was surprised to feel Octavia’s bony fingers fitting themselves between her own. 

“He’ll be okay,” Octavia said softly, like she was trying to speak it into existence. 

Clarke shook her head hysterically, “It’s my fault, it’s _all my fault,_ he’s gone and it’s all my fault _again,_ I can’t, I can’t, it’s my fault, it’s–”

“–Clarke, where’s the knife?” Axton asked urgently. She pointed to where she’d dropped it, and as she did, noticed a tiny cut on her ring finger. He saw it too, seizing her hand and inspecting it. She shuddered again, tears pooling under her chin, and for a moment she thought she saw her black blood spark with flecks of orange. Axton cursed under his breath. 

Octavia’s grip on her right hand tightened, “What the hell was that?” She hissed.

“Poison,” Axton seethed. “Dammit Clarke, you should have been more careful!”

“Sorry,” Clarke said, pain slamming into her again, and she realised the pain wasn’t from her worry but from the same toxic substance killing Bellamy. Her vision felt blurry, and she blinked, trying to shake the clouds from her eyes. 

Octavia and Diyoza worked together to haul her to her feet, leading her towards the hospital. She swayed, legs unable to take her own weight, and she could see Shaw a few yards in front of her, arguing with someone. She searched her brain, trying to recognise the woman from behind - she had a feeling that the woman usually wore a ponytail - but it was too far out of reach and trying to find it was like swimming through honey. 

Axton must have summoned another gurney, because before she knew it, she was sitting on the edge of one, watching the ground pass beneath her feet. She could hear some people following them, but her head was too heavy to lift it and see who it was.

Octavia still hadn’t let go of her hand.  
  
  


  
  
  
_Bellamy knew he was dreaming._

_He knew it because he was in the middle of an empty ballroom, and Clarke was standing in front of him, hand outstretched, asking him to dance._

_She was still wearing that gorgeous ballgown, glowing ethereally in the light from the chandeliers, and he found her almost too blinding to look at. It was like staring at the sun. His eyes took in the empty room instead, and he wondered where the crowds of people had gone, where his friends were._

_A few descending piano notes played, and he frowned, looking for an instrument and finding none. Then, string instruments joined in, and the music was coming from all around them. It wasn’t happy, but it didn’t feel tragic enough to be sad, just… a little raw, a little too revealing._

_He heard Clarke sob, and then her palms were pressed against either side of his face, and he finally got up the courage to look at her. There were tears spilling over her lashes, her blue eyes almost painfully bright against the muted pink of her cheeks. She was radiating the painful vulnerability he’d only ever seen her share with him, the same openness he’d only ever found with her._

_It didn’t matter what happened between them, because it always came down to a single moment; the two of them, stripped bare of their defences, allowing their anguish to reveal itself in their eyes. The two of them, breaking each other’s hearts with their unseen battle scars, both of them wanting so desperately to heal the other. The two of them, all alone in the wars they waged beneath the surface, until they were alone together; both fighting to save the other from themselves. It was a single moment, repeated over and over and they were never quite able to patch all the wounds, but it didn’t stop them trying._

_They’d been performing this dance for years. Eyes seeking eyes, brown earth seeking blue sky, heart’s orbiting in tandem, mouths never quite forming the right words to make the other stay._

_**“I need you,”** Clarke’s voice said, and it sounded desperate and so frustratingly far away. She was right in front of him but she sounded muffled, like she wasn’t quite there, and he found himself gripping her hands at his cheeks, just to prove she was._

_**“I know.”** He said, but it didn’t feel like enough._

_Yet she smiled up at him. It was small and shaky, but it was a smile all the same. When she spoke again, the words were nearer but somehow more dreamlike. **“Dance with me?”**_

_She had barely finished the question before the music picked up, strings reverberating through him. Shadowy figures started appearing in his periphery, people filling up the dancefloor around them, swaying in pairs. The melody was calling out to them. Beckoning them to dance._

_Clarke slid one hand down to his shoulder and clasped the other firmly around his fingers. He didn’t know when his hand ended up on her waist, but there it was, and she was so close to him, closer than she’d been in so long. The pairs around them were already dancing, all of them blurring around them, suits and skirts in shades of grey surrounding them on all sides, but the only thing he could see was Clarke. She was in dazzling colour, the sparking silver of the dress flickering pink when it caught the light and the blue of her eyes brighter than anything he’d ever seen._

_Bellamy took a breath, and then they were waltzing, gliding effortlessly across the marble floor. The shadowy couples ebbed and flowed around them as they swept the ballroom. They circled together, her dress swirling through the air, and when he spun her, her feet lifted off the ground and she laughed light and unburdened in his ear. If he could, he would bottle that sound and never listen to anything else. It was better than every song he’d ever heard._

_The moment the thought crossed his mind, the music became louder still, melancholy and heartbreaking. It pierced the air, and Clarke’s feet touched the ground._

_They kept twirling, moving perfectly in tandem, but there was an urgency to it that there hadn’t been before. Her fingers were gripping his tightly, and her eyes were wild with something unreadable. The spectral couples around them seemed darker somehow, more sinister, and they were all suddenly unmoving, just watching Bellamy and Clarke waltz on their own._

_Everything was getting darker but the chandeliers were burning brighter than ever and Clarke was incandescent as she moved, her skirt trailing light behind them. The music was swallowing them both whole but she was still smiling and he wanted her to keep smiling forever, so they danced on._

_The ballroom was twisting and smouldering around them, and then the music softened and the shadows melted away. The world began dissipating around him but her hand still felt real in his. The floor crumbled away behind them, collapsing with every step they took, even as the music moved closer, building again. The dream was slipping through his fingers like quicksand but he wasn’t ready to let it end._

_He spun her out, twirling her, and when he tugged her back, she was in his arms, palms pressed against his chest. He was holding her as close as he could and the music was heart-shattering because he knew it couldn’t last, he knew that soon, so very soon, he would have to let go._

_**“I don’t want to,”** he said, pressing his forehead against hers, hopelessly clinging to the edges of the dream as it slipped away. _

_The music swelled._

_She pressed her lips to his cheek, saying goodbye, like always._

_**“Then don’t.”** _  
  
  


  
  
  
Clarke felt dizzy, like she’d been spinning, and everything felt strange. A kind of vertigo had overtaken her senses, but she was slowly coming back to herself. Octavia was sitting in a chair by the door, scowling at everyone, and Axton and Diyoza were standing by the bed. Jackson was fiddling with something near her knuckles, and she realised that there was some kind of IV hooked up to the back of her hand, pumping purple liquid into her veins. 

“You okay?” That was Axton.

“Fine,” she said, unconvincing as usual.

“The antidote’s starting to take effect, but if you start to feel the shocks again, you have to tell someone immediately,” Jackson said. She nodded along, mind elsewhere. 

“Where’s Bellamy?”

“He’s in the intensive care wing. He needed to stay unconscious to slow down the poison long enough for the antidote to work, so he’s in a medically induced coma. We’ll bring him out of it tomorrow afternoon, his body just needs time to recuperate,” Axton explained. He reached for her arm, squeezing it, “He’ll be fine, Clarke.”

“He almost died because of me,” she whispered. “Again.”

“No, he almost died because of Rainier,” Diyoza snapped, “he’s going to _live_ because of you.”

“This isn’t your fault, Clarke.” That was Raven’s voice, and she jerked her head around to find her, feeling another wave of dizziness crash down as she did. Raven was leaning against the wall, arms crossed sullenly, but for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t directly an angry glare in Clarke’s direction. Instead her expression seemed almost _lost,_ and she was pulling at a loose thread in the sleeve of Shaw’s jacket. 

Axton excused himself to go check on his people, and Diyoza offered to go with him. Jackson followed them, and then it was only Octavia, Raven and Clarke left in the small white room. 

“I need to talk to Clarke,” Raven said pointedly.

“Talk as much as you want, I’m not going anywhere,” Octavia retorted. 

She bristled, “This is none of your business–”

“–look, unless Clarke asks me to leave, I’m not going anywhere. I owe her.” Octavia snapped. Clarke blinked in surprise before nodding once, indicating that they could both stay. She opened her mouth to tell her that she didn’t owe her anything, but Octavia beat her to it. “You didn’t kill me when you had the opportunity to, when you knew I was ready to kill you. And you’ve saved my brother more times than I can count. You saved him even when I wasn’t willing to. I owe you.”

Clarke frowned, “I don’t want you to think you’re beholden to me, Octavia, I would never ask that of you.”

“I’m aware.” She replied harshly despite the forlorn note to her voice, and Clarke took her cue and dropped the topic, choosing to focus on Raven instead.

“It's been pointed out to be that I've been an asshole. I’m sorry,” Raven announced. “I… I should have said it sooner. You’ve been apologising to us since we arrived and I’ve been…”

There was a pause as she collected her thoughts. 

“There was a part of me that blamed you for Monty and Harper’s deaths. I know, rationally, that it wasn’t your fault, but we woke up and they were just… gone. I didn’t even get a goodbye, they just died. I know it was what they chose, but there was this part of my brain that wanted to blame you, because blaming you for death is easy – you’ve been the cause of so much of it, whether you wanted to be or not. It’s easy to tell myself that it’s Wanheda’s fault my friends, my _family_ are gone, and use that to justify my anger at being left behind. But it’s _not_ your fault. It’s no-one’s fault, they made their choice, and they were happy. We all made mistakes in the valley, but I’ve been holding onto yours far longer than I should have.”

A lump was forming in Clarke’s throat, and she tried desperately not to let the tears rise up again. “I’m sorry.”

Raven snorted. “Stop apologising.”

“No, I mean it Raven. I apologised on the ship, but I want you to know that I meant it. I never asked for your forgiveness, Raven; I never expected it. I just… I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” Raven said softly. 

“And me,” Octavia chimed in, “and I probably have a lot more to be sorry about than either of you. I’m sorry.”

They all sat there, revelling in the moment, until Raven broke the silence once again, “Right, now that the emotional shit is out of the way; where the hell did you get that dress, Griffin?”

* * *

* * *

* * *

A few hours later, Clarke managed to duck away from her monitors to visit Bellamy. She appreciated being checked on, but all she cared about was making sure he was okay, and she felt helpless from her own observation room. She knew she couldn’t do anything by simply sitting with him, but at least she would feel like she was doing _something._

She bumped into Madi on the way, almost tripping over her as she rounded a corner. 

“Hey!” Madi scolded, “You should be resting.”

“I know. I’m just going to Bellamy’s room, I’ll rest when I get there.” Clarke realised that she hadn’t hugged her daughter since the day they went walking in the gardens and she rectified it immediately, wrapping her arms around her. 

“I’ve missed you.” Madi mumbled into her dress. 

“I miss you too,” Clarke whispered, and she found she wasn’t only talking about the last two days. She missed spending time like this, with her daughter who loved her, rather than the commander who was cold and detached. She dropped a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “You know you can come to me if you need me, right? Whenever you need, I’m always here.”

“That’s what Emori said you’d say. She’s been helping me while you were getting better; Russell and I decided that Rainier’s forfeit was enough, we didn’t need to kill him. He’s been jailed, pending trial for banishment. Murphy helped too, except he mostly just made jokes.” Madi grinned, but it didn’t last long, her face falling, “They kept telling me what you would say, because you weren’t…”

“I’m okay,” Clarke said reassuringly.

Madi sniffled. “I was so worried. Bellamy was hurt and then you jumped into the fight and I thought you– I was scared.”

“I’m sorry,” she held her out at arms-length, brushing tears from her cheeks. 

“I love you,” Madi said fervently.

“Madi, I will _always_ love you,” she replied, just as earnest, “no matter what. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“If you need me, come find me. For anything. Even if it’s just a hug.” Clarke kissed her forehead one last time before they parted ways, and she lamented the ways her daughter was being forced to grow up far before her time.

She took a left and found herself in the correct wing of the hospital, climbing another set of stairs to finally reach the door to Bellamy’s room. It was propped open, and she walked in, expecting to find Murphy or even Miller in his room, but instead she was confronted with the sight of Echo perched on a chair by his bed. 

She faltered mid-step, hand still on the doorframe. “Uh, do you mind if I sit for a while?”

Echo sneered up at her, “Yes I do.”

Clarke felt her hands automatically forming fists and she tried to force herself to relax. Echo was Bellamy’s girlfriend and she had every right to sit by his bedside and kick out whoever she wanted. Clarke had no claim on him, no reason to feel annoyance, and yet her muscles tensed for a fight. It was reflex, where Echo was concerned. 

“I’ll, uh… I’ll come back later,” she said, mollifying. 

“Don’t bother.” Echo said, and it felt like a hand closing around Clarke’s windpipe when she followed it up with, “He doesn’t need you anymore.”

Her eyes fell closed and she tried to catch the breath that had suddenly slipped from her lungs. Echo was right – Bellamy didn’t need her. She took a step back, and then another, moving swiftly down the stairs. The second her foot hit the bottom step, she broke into a run and she didn’t stop until she reached her room. She collapsed against her door as it closed behind her, sliding to the floor as the vertigo returned and tears pooled under her chin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but it wasn’t enough to wipe away the guilt she felt for everything she’d ever done, every life she’d ever taken, every person she ruined. It would live with her forever, and her friends might accept her apology, but she never could. Nothing would ever bring those people back, or unbreak their hearts.

It would never be enough.  
  
  


  
  
  
Bellamy blinked the light from his eyes as they opened, squinting into the daylight. 

“Careful, careful, don’t move too quickly,” a familiar voice said. 

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, completely disregarding the advice, and he heard Abby’s familiar clinical tutting. “You’re recovering from being poisoned, Bellamy Blake, don’t stress your body too much or you’ll be stuck in this room a lot longer than you need to be.” 

He could see better now that he’d adjusted to the light, and Abby and Jackson came into view, bending over the monitor by his bed. Axton was standing in the doorway looking murderous, and there was someone else sitting by the bedside dressed in leggings and a shirt, obscured by Jackson’s body. He glanced around but there was no flash of blonde, no glimpse of blue. He tried not to feel disappointed that Clarke wasn’t with him, but there was music curling around his heart and he could still feel her pressed into his arms. 

“You seem miserable, for someone who just came back to life,” Jackson remarked. 

Bellamy shrugged, which made the room wobble slightly, but his vision quickly righted itself. “What happened? I remember fighting Rainier, getting stabbed, going down and then… Was it my imagination or did Clarke…?”

“Kick his ass in a dress and heels? Yes. Yes she did,” Axton confirmed. 

“It was really remarkable,” Jackson agreed.

“I really thought that might’ve been part of the dream,” he mused, staring at his hands. It had been so vivid. He touched his cheek, where he knew there must be a bruise forming, and realised he no longer had a beard, finding only smooth skin at his jaw. 

“We had to see your face, to make sure there was no permanent damage,” Abby explained. She checked his pupils and examined his bandaged wound until she seemed satisfied with his progress and frowned down at him. “Try not to get poisoned again. You scared us, all of us.”

He almost flinched at her sincerity, and unsure how to respond, he decided to shoot for levity, “Doesn’t this planet have _local_ doctors?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled, “Don’t pick any fights in the next few days and I’ll consider it a major medical breakthrough for you.”

He snorted as she left and Jackson followed, clapping him on the shoulder warmly. Axton was still glowering against the doorframe and Bellamy didn’t fail to notice the look he and Abby had shared.

“What’s wrong?” He asked Axton.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, scowling.

He raised an eyebrow at him and Axton responded by jerking his head at the person in the chair. Without Jackson in the way, Bellamy realised who it was, watching them sceptically, her eyes constantly flicking to the monitor. 

“Echo?” He asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

She rose up to her full height indignantly, “I was worried! You almost died, Bellamy!”

“I’m aware,” he said dryly. 

_“Someone_ needed to sit by your bedside,” she sniped. Axton muttered something under his breath and she rounded on him, suddenly furious. “Oh, what is it _now?_ You have a problem with me, just say it.”

“I said,” Axton spoke up, “that someone _did_ try to sit by his bedside, and you chased her off.”

“I did nothing of the kind.” 

“I’m sure,” he retorted sardonically, a quiet kind of anger in his eyes. 

“Clarke was here?” Bellamy asked. 

“She came by, once,” Echo crossed her arms defensively. 

Axton was staring daggers at her, and Bellamy had a feeling he’d missed something important while he was unconscious. Before he had a chance to ask about it, Axton snapped, “Because you kicked her out.”

“I d–” Echo’s mouth had hardly opened to protest before he cut her off.

“Don’t give me that shit. She threw herself into combat in a _ballgown_ to save Bellamy’s life, while you were busy feeling sorry for yourself. She cut herself trying to find the knife that nearly killed him and then rushed up here the second she could walk without collapsing. She wouldn’t have just turned tail and left for no reason.”

“She what?” Bellamy asked, panicked, “What happened, is she okay?”

“She’s not dying, if that’s what you mean,” he ran a hand through his golden hair in clear frustration. “We caught the poison much sooner in her, so she was mostly recovered after a few hours. But she’s a complete wreck. She thought you were going to up and die in her arms and it… took a toll on her.”

He was already swinging his legs out of bed. “Where is she?”

Axton looked to the heavens for strength, and said something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, _“Abby was right, you two are as bad as each other,”_ before he addressed Bellamy. “You need to stay in bed, you idiot, you almost died. People are supposed to come to _you_ because you’re not supposed to be moving. Don’t be a fool.”

“It’s such a comfort having you here,” Bellamy said sarcastically as he lowered his feet to the cold floor and tested his weight on them. 

“What are friends for,” Axton retorted, grinning. He crossed the room in two strides and checked the monitor. “To be honest, you’re almost completely healed. There’ll be some residual dizziness, but your vitals are fine. Our medical facilities are state of the art, unlike what you’re used to. Clarke’s told me a few horror stories about stitching people up in dreadful conditions.”

“She’s good at that,” Bellamy said, almost absentmindedly. 

Echo made a noise of displeasure and his eyes narrowed at her.

“What are you still doing here?”

She recoiled like she’d been slapped. “I wanted to be here for you.”

“I appreciate that, but we broke up, Echo, and not for no reason. I don’t want to be with you, I didn’t ask you to stay here with me, and you know that. We’re not together anymore.”

“So what, now that you’ve got Clarke back, I’m just nothing?”

He exhaled harshly through his nose, frustrated, “That’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I need space and you’re deliberately not giving it to me. You’re in my life, Echo, and I don’t abandon the people I care about – but you don’t get to dictate the terms of my forgiveness. It’s not something you can force; it happens or it doesn’t.”

She stood, “So that’s it? You’re just done, we’re over?”

_“Yes.”_

He dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing them down his face resignedly, and when he looked up, she had gone. He could still hear her boots in the hall, fading from earshot. Axton smacked him on the arm, reassuring without being too overbearing. 

“Well, that could have gone worse.”

Bellamy glared at him and pulled on the white t-shirt someone had folded at the end of his bed, wincing when the movement made his stab wound twinge, “Where’s Clarke?”

“Look, Blake, when I found her last night, she was on the floor of her room having a panic attack, still wearing the dress with your blood on it. She’s been through a lot in the last few days. I tried to comfort her, but she’s so used to being on her own, and I’m not exactly the person she wanted to see. This afternoon I coaxed her out of her room with the promise of food, but afterwards she vanished. She wanted to be left alone for a while–”

“–Where is she, Axton? I need to see h– I need to make sure she’s okay.” Bellamy pleaded.

“She’s in the rose garden, although I’m not sure exactly where,” Axton admitted. He caught Bellamy’s elbow just as he started moving towards the door. “Hey, you have to tell her, okay? I don’t care if she already knows, I think she needs to hear it from you.”

Bellamy shook him off, smiling ruefully, “I don’t know how much Clarke has told you about our time on Earth, but I was always pretty good at speeches.”

“Yeah, well don’t screw this one up!” Axton called after him.

* * *

* * *

* * *

In the end, it didn’t take long to find her; he just followed the sound of the music. 

When he arrived at the entrance to the garden, it was raining. The water was streaming into the corridor, soaking the chequered tiles, pooling in the uneven spots. He sent splashes up with every step, and when he walked through the gate into the garden, past the statues and fountains and over the stream, it felt surreal. It didn’t feel like the place he’d been standing in the night before. It was wilder somehow, more magical. Water dusted every leaf and trickled down marble fingers. 

He started making his way around the vast area, trying to find her, when he heard soft piano music coming from the furthest corner. He darted through the pathways until he stumbled into a small clearing, smaller than the one she’d been in the day before. This was much further removed, as far away from the main entrance as she could possibly be. The rain was lighter here, the canopy of winding vines above them serving to lessen its intensity. 

She was sitting, head bowed and hands gripping at the stone bench beneath her, in a blue Henley and dark jeans. The deliberate curls were gone and her hair was hanging in its usual waves, the silver dress long since discarded and yet she still glowed. She always had, at least to him. There was a marble statue of a woman lamenting by a red rose bush and the music was playing from a device on the plinth. It was quiet and almost hopeful, melody blending effortlessly with the pattering of the rain. 

Bellamy sat down beside her. He didn’t try to talk. He simply sat there, listening to the piano weave tales of _maybes_ and _almosts,_ and wishing it didn’t make his heart ache. 

He leaned back against the trellis, jarring it enough for water to pour down the back of his shirt and into his eyes, but he didn’t care. 

He felt something touch the back of his knuckle and he glanced down to see that Clarke had reached blindly out, fingers seeking his. Their hands twined, fitting together effortlessly. This part was easy. It hurt, but it was easier than talking. 

The piano melody was soon joined with the sound of Clarke’s humming, mellifluous notes blending together in the mist. He wasn’t even sure she knew she was doing it; she was simply immersed in the music.

He ran the pad of his thumb over the back of hers, soft patterns of comfort, trying to give as much as she would let him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, words cracking through the air, too loud, too out of place, but he had to say them. “For ever letting you think that you were alone. You’re not alone, Clarke.”

Her head moved slowly upwards, eyes raising to his arms, his chest, his shoulders, until they finally reached his face.

“Oh,” she breathed. 

She lifted her other hand to his cheek, stroking the smooth skin there so lightly that he shivered. Tears fell relentlessly like rain down her cheeks, droplets catching the light in her lashes. 

“This is how I remember you,” she said softly, like it was shameful. “All those days calling you, this is who I was imagining.”

“I’m still me, Clarke,” he said lowly, “We’re still us.”

Her bottom lip quivered, “Not anymore, Bellamy. We’ve changed so much, we… I, I’m not…”

“You’re still the girl who argued with me about everything during our first weeks on Earth. You’re still the woman who saved our people from war and Mount Weather and A.L.I.E. You’re still the person who sacrificed herself for me, for everyone, over and over again. I know you, Princess.”

A sob escaped her and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. She grasped his fingers a little tighter. He brought his free hand up to stroke the hair from her face and her eyes fluttered shut at his touch, more tears falling through her lashes. 

“I’m right here, Princess,” he said. “We’re both here, we’re both okay.”

She shook her head, “We’re not okay; we’re broken. I poison everything I touch, Bellamy, and I can’t lose you again.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Clarke, not ever.” It was true and the implications of it were terrifying and huge, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to know that he meant it. He leaned in a little, nose brushing her cheek and she drew in a breath, holding it. She was waiting for him to move. 

He tilted his chin, but his lips had barely glanced hers before she twitched back, eyes flying open in shock. 

“You can’t do that.” She pleaded, an edge of regret in her tone. “You can’t do that to me, Bellamy, it hurts too much.”

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he implored, “all I want is you, Clarke.”

“What does that mean? What can that possibly mean, when we don’t know each other anymore, when we barely knew each other to begin with, when I waited for you for six years while you fell in love with someone else?!” The pain in her voice was stripped and raw, like an open wound with damaged sutures. She looked stricken, like she couldn’t believe she’d let the words tumble between her teeth, and she wrenched her hand from his to clap it over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

She refused to look at him, eyes finding a rose across the clearing where the rain was pouring through, filling it to the brim until it shone like pink crystal in the light. 

“Clarke, I broke up with Echo before the fight.” He vowed, “The second I found out what she did in the valley, I had to. If I had known sooner, I promise you I would never have stayed with her. She tried to hurt you.” His hands were shaking even thinking about it. “I would have lost you again, and I wouldn’t survive that, Clarke. I tried once. I barely made it through. I can’t do it again.”

She blinked a few times but didn’t move. 

“I know you came to see me. She had no right to tell you to leave, Clarke. I don’t know what she said to you to make you so afraid to even look at me, but I promise she’s lying.”

“I’m always afraid to look at you,” she admitted, so hushed it was almost inaudible in amongst the rain and the music. “Even before, when we were friends, looking at you terrified me, because of what it meant; because I knew that whenever I did, it was obvious to everyone how I felt. You’ve always been my weakness, Bellamy.”

“You were always mine too. Still are,” he uttered, like a promise. “My good judgement flies out the window when it comes to you, Clarke. I would let the world burn before I let it take you away from me again.”

She sobbed, both hands coming up to cover her face, and there were tears dampening his cheeks too. He didn’t bother wiping them away. The music faded out and there was an agonising moment of silence punctuated only by the patter of rain and the jagged crying of his best friend, until the song changed. The piano felt bolder somehow, no longer dealing in maybes but in certainties, demanding something of them. It was urging them to do what neither of them had ever been willing to do. 

Bellamy stood and gently tugged at her elbows, bringing her up with him until they were standing unbearably close in the tiny clearing. She was trembling, whether from the cold or from their proximity, he wasn’t sure.

“Dance with me?” He asked, and he could still hear Clarke asking the same thing in his dream, their ballroom waltzing fragmented across his memory. This was better – this was _real._

She made a point of looking down at herself before she let him begin leading her in small, slow circles, “I’m not exactly in a ballgown, Bellamy.”

His hand spanned her back, and he nosed against her hair. “This is how I prefer you anyway. You look like Clarke.”

“You told me I was beautiful,” she rested her cheek against his shoulder as they swayed, still sniffling a little, chest rising and falling a little too hard against his. “Before you passed out, the last thing you said was that I looked beautiful.”

“I would have said it even if I’d never seen you in that dress,” he said honestly, “but I can’t deny that it made my heart stop when you walked down those stairs. You looked…”

“Like a princess?” She asked, and he could hear the amused smile she was wearing. 

“Breathtaking,” he murmured.

She gripped more tightly to him, picking her head up so she could look him directly in the eyes. She trailed her fingertips from his shoulder, up his neck, to the base of his skull, tangling them in his unruly curls. They kept dancing, neither of them willing to ruin the moment, both of them holding their breaths for the other’s next move. He was terrified and he could see in her eyes that she was too, because there’s no going back from this once it happens, but it’s long overdue. 

“Bellamy?” She breathed. 

He hummed in lieu of answering.

“I… I should have said it years ago. I should have said it the day you went up in that rocket it, or weeks before that, or the moment you came back to Earth. I should have told you…” She trailed off, still not quite able to utter the words.

“I know, Princess,” he mumbled, lowering his forehead to hers again as they spun unhurriedly together, swaying to the music. It would be funny if it weren’t so tragic; they’d been dancing around it for years and they were finally on the same note of the right song. He let his hand slide up her back, pressing her closer still. “Me too. Always have. From the very beginning.”

When their lips touched this time, she didn’t pull away, even when he felt the dampness of her cheeks. She kissed him back and he wondered if he was dreaming again because this couldn’t possibly be real. But even in the dream, she’d never clutched at him like this, frantically tugging at his hair to bring him closer, gasping into his mouth when he forgot himself completely and backed her against the nearest trellis. It shuddered, cascading raindrops down onto them, but they didn’t care, not when his tongue met hers and she hooked her ankle around the back of his knee to stop him leaving. As if he ever could. 

He’s aching for her – he waited for this for too long to ever let it go, and she seemed to feel the same, fisting handfuls of his shirt to keep his entire body against hers. It didn’t matter that she was crying, or that he probably was too, because he loves her and she loves him and everything else felt far away, lost to the music and the rain. 

It wasn’t until her palm skimmed over his ribs that he broke the kiss, wincing against her jaw. 

“Oh god, are you okay?” She asked, rucking up his shirt to check his wound, but he caught her fingers. He placed them over the bandages gently, to show her that she wasn’t hurting him, and she gazed up at him tentatively. 

“I love you,” he confessed.  
  
  


  
  
  
The words were so much easier to hear than she thought they would be, and as she melted into his brown eyes, she wondered if he could see how much she felt their impact. 

There was tension in his shoulders, an irrational fear that she might not say it back, and she knew the feeling. She felt the tears welling up again, happy this time, and he looked equal parts enamoured and devastated as he brushed them away with his thumbs. 

“God, I love you Bellamy, so much,” she drew his lips back to where they belonged and this kiss was less desperate. He was still crowding her against the trellis but his palms were on her cheeks, holding her more intimately than she’d been held in years, maybe even at all. It was almost overwhelming, but she welcomed every sensation: giving in to the desires she’d been fighting for so long. His lips started trailing across her jaw and down her neck and she gasped as they dragged hotly behind her ear. She was mumbling incoherently, “So much, so much, so much,” and she felt the curve of his smile in the dip of her collarbone when she reflexively arched into him. 

This was everything she’d been missing, not just being touched, but being touched by Bellamy. His calloused hands roaming up her sides, his mouth meeting hers, the graze of his teeth on her skin. He was taking care not to move too fast, respecting her boundaries, but they had long since passed the point where she wanted him to take his time. 

She hiked her leg up until it was around his hip and he groaned into the crook of her neck. And then it was like the dam had been broken, because his kissed her again, biting down on her lower lip until she moaned. His hands stilled on her waist so he could lift her, pushing her up the trellis until she was the one staring down at _him._ She wrapped her legs around him and he rolled his hips against hers, making sparks fly behind her eyelids. 

“Fuck,” she gasped out, obscenities pouring from her mouth, and he swallowed them with his lips, tasting them on his tongue. She tried to collect her thoughts, but they were scattered, too busy with Bellamy’s entire body on hers to think about anything but the heat pooling between her thighs. She tugged at his curls, “We should go inside.”

“Yes we should.” He agreed, but made no sign of stopping; his hands finally reaching her breasts. She let her head fall back against the wood as he bent down to suck a bruise under her jaw. 

“Really, I mean it, we shouldn’t finish this out here,” she panted, even as she yanked at the waistband of his pants. “We’ve waited years, we can hold out long enough to find a bed, right?”

He tugged at her shirt until she lifted her arms so he could just remove it, and his jaw slacked when he took in her chest. His gaze flicked back to hers, and they both knew immediately that the decision was made.

“Not a chance, Princess.” He grinned.

She tore his shirt off and tossed it aimlessly aside, hands all over him, nails raking down his back. She shoved his trousers down just enough to take him in her hand, and he growled against her lips. He let her down from the wall so that he could undo her jeans, and when he got on his knees in front of her, she felt her heart stop. When she was down to just her underwear, he laved his tongue over her the line of her hips.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

 _“Everything_ is okay,” she said, too worked up to hide her impatience, and he laughed at her choice of words.

“Yeah, Princess, for once, I suppose it is,” he teased, and then his mouth was on her and she was muffling cries against the back of her hand as the music swelled and the rain misted around them.  
  
  


  
  
  
It was late at night when Bellamy crawled into Clarke’s bed and enfolded her in his arms. 

They had spent a long time in the garden, but by some stroke of luck, Axton had only stumbled on them when they were helping each other get their soaking wet clothes back on. He’d laughed and hi-fived Clarke, whose cheeks had flushed pink with embarrassment when Axton then raised his fist for Bellamy to bump. 

Bellamy thought she looked just as stunning half-dressed and blushing as she did when wearing a glittering ballgown. He had absolutely no idea how he’d held off for so long. 

Axton had just glanced between them and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “You two are adorable. I’ll tell Murphy and Emori that Madi’s staying in their room tonight.”

Clarke frowned, “No, you don’t have to–”

“If you try and tell me that you two are willing to spend the rest of the night trying not to have sex again, I will weep,” he deadpanned. “Now go and put some clothes on. Your friends want to throw you both a surprise dinner party to celebrate your ability to not die.”

“Because the last party went _so_ well,” Bellamy sniped. 

“This one is just your people, myself, and any friends you’ve made since you arrived. Don’t worry, there won’t be any unwelcome guests trying to challenge you to archaic duels tonight.”

“I’d still rather just… go to bed.” He said tiredly. 

“I bet you would,” Axton winked.

“I’m tired! I was stabbed, Ax, right here,” he pointed to his ribs, “I nearly died.” 

“Yeah, but you seemed to have recovered pretty well.”

Clarke made a high-pitched squeak that sounded an awful lot like she was trying not to think about how well Bellamy had recovered, or what they’d spent the last few hours doing. 

Axton waved lazily as he retreated, “Be at dinner in an hour. Pretend to be surprised. Try not to have sex on the dinner table.”

Clarke had thrown her shoe at him and they could hear him laughing all the way out of the garden.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dinner had gone surprisingly well too – Murphy cracked a lot of inappropriate jokes, but honestly that was to be expected no matter what the occasion. Abby had pulled Clarke aside at one point to talk to her very seriously about something, and when she returned to her seat, she held Bellamy’s hand under the table for the rest of the night. 

Shaw and Clarke seemed to have a kind of kinship that Bellamy hadn’t noticed before, the two of them laughing amiably and Clarke asking about his intentions with Raven. Raven started talking to Madi and Emori, and Octavia drew Kane and Jackson into a passionate debate, although about what exactly he wasn’t sure. Echo and Callista were conversating quietly for most of the night, though they did both chip in every now and then.

At one point, Miller leaned over the table to clasp his hand warmly and very seriously thanked him for not dying, which made him grin, and he decided that he no longer held any ill will towards his old friend, teasing him and being teased in turn. 

Diyoza then jumped in to congratulate the two of them on “finally getting your heads out of your asses and seeing what literally everyone already knew, and what I figured out within two seconds of meeting you,” which made Axton and Murphy laugh so hard they both started choking and wheezing, faces turning red. It was nice, a kinder sight than he’d seen in a while – Clarke being accepted as part of their family again – and he hoped she knew how loved she was, but he knew that she probably wouldn’t accept the truth if he told her. 

That was alright; he had years to fix that.

By the time the dinner was winding down to a close, he was exhausted and Clarke was drifting off against his shoulder. They all proposed one final toast, everyone raising their glasses as he coaxed Clarke to her feet. 

“To Bellamy,” Diyoza said, “for getting killed and just walking it off.”

“To Clarke,” Murphy drawled, “for jumping into a brawl to save his worthless ass and nearly dying herself.”

“To both of you,” Axton finished up, “may you live a long and happy life together. Failing that, please try and at least make it to next Thursday.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

So there they were, curled up in Clarke’s bed, warmth radiating around them. Clarke was nuzzling his neck, humming contentedly, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. 

“I missed you,” she mumbled sleepily. 

He wasn’t even sure she knew what she was saying, or how lost she’d sounded at the mere thought of missing him. He wished he could wipe that pain away, but he knew it wasn’t that kind of wound. He dropped a kiss to her temple and lingered there, holding onto the moment for as long as possible. “I love you, Clarke.”

She sighed, her legs tangling with his, “Love you…”

Her dress was hanging over the door of her closet, the stains completely gone, looking as pristine as the first time he’d seen it. But for some reason, it looked duller, less magical even when bathed in moonlight, and he didn’t need to wonder why. His eyes drifted back to the sleeping woman half-draped across his chest, and he smiled. 

Peace never felt quite right to him. But this, right here, him and Clarke – this was exactly where he felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! 
> 
> I hope it lived up to all your expectations! 
> 
> If you've actually completed it, I offer my sincerest thanks and congratulations for making it this far. I appreciate you beyond words. 
> 
> As a final note, I leave you with one of my favourite Firefly quotes (seriously, please go watch this show):
> 
>  **"We've done the impossible, and that makes us mighty."** \- Captain Mal

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! 
> 
> What are you thinking??? 
> 
> Kudos are always appreciated and comments make me blush and flail happily a lot. <3 <3 <3


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